Resistance 1
by Ornamental Nonsense
Summary: Claire is determined to help stop the viral, chain reaction that Umbrella originally caused, but when she steals a virus from Wesker, she gets more than she bargained for. Part I of a very long series ranging from pre to post RE5.
1. Chapter 1: Taking a Risk

Chapter 1: Taking a Risk

Their first meeting had occurred over a year earlier, on Rockfort Island. Claire Redfield could still remember it, and she dreaded the thought of ever encountering Albert Wesker again. He had beaten her and then used her to bait her brother Chris. Claire understood that the two hated each other, but no one would ever tell her the whole story. For her part, she shared Chris's hate for Wesker, but she also feared him. She could still picture his red eyes piercing her from behind sunglasses while he cast a mocking smile. He was inhuman and too powerful for her to defeat one-on-one, but that didn't stop her from dreaming about it. One day she was going to stab that bastard's eyes out for what he had done to Steve Burnside.

"Steve," she spoke softly into the wind. A year and a few weeks and Chris and Jill were gone, fighting the reviving Umbrella Corporation and rival agencies. Claire was, of course, kept uninformed, because Chris didn't want her running off into dangerous situations like him. So she continued her studies, mainly literature, and kept her body in topnotch condition with hand-to-hand combat training and self-defense classes. She also frequented the gun range and had taken to keeping tabs on any curious world news that might pertain to Umbrella.

Other than that, life was dull. Leon occasionally slipped her news about the group, but it was never enough to be useful. She hated being left behind, especially after she had proven herself on Rockfort. She had fought and killed her share of monsters and bled for the cause. _But little Claire is always to be protected_, she thought with a sigh. She had become a liability on Rockfort once Wesker found her, as much as she hated to admit it. Sometimes she thought that perhaps that one slipup had ruined her chances of being accepted as part of the team. It was at times like that when Wesker's image haunted her mind and she wondered if she really did want to be involved. Hell yes. A little over a year after Rockfort, she got her chance.

Claire sat behind the steering wheel, binoculars to her eyes, at a safe distance from a man who was sitting at a café, awaiting a meeting. He kept checking his watch and tapping his fingers on the table in boredom.

"You're mine," Claire said to herself with a smile. "But where's your buddy?" She had happened upon the man earlier in the week, overseeing a shipment of crates marked with Umbrella's old seal. Chris would sure as hell be surprised, she thought with satisfaction. Leon had mentioned that they thought something was going down in Boston—an unidentified shipment of some sort, but everyone was in Europe at the moment, working on a new mission. Claire had driven for hours to get to Boston, and with no idea what she was looking for, so she kept tabs on any incoming ships. Sure enough, Redfield luck served her well. Days of spying crate labels paid off.

"Why won't this guy go to the bathroom or something?" she huffed, taking another sip of coffee—a habit she had taken from Chris. The man was guarding a silver briefcase of some kind. It was practically attached to his leg. "You'd think that after six hours of work he'd need to pee." She waited another few minutes until he finally stood and went inside, clearly telling the waiter not to mistakenly clean his table. Claire slipped inside after him, right into the restroom when no one was looking. The man stepped up to a urinal, briefcase at his feet. The zipper went down while she freed a knife from her pocket and stepped up directly behind him, knife to his throat.

"Don't move a muscle," she ordered. The man stiffened. "If you turn around, you die. Understand?" The man nodded. "Good. Give me your wallet."

"Here, take it," he said, slowly reaching into his pocket and pulling it out. "Please just leave me be. You have what you want." Claire tried not to smile. She really didn't want the wallet, but she didn't want him to notice his briefcase was missing until she was free to get away without being seen.

"Alright. I'm going to let you go since you cooperated. We'll see how much money is in your account, won't we? I'm going to leave. Count to ten before moving from this spot, and everything will be fine. Count out loud, ok? Go."

"One…two…three…" The man's voice went on, but Claire was long gone, briefcase silently in tow. She sat in her car and grinned, started the ignition, and gave the café one last look. Her hand froze as she went to pull out. The man had returned to his table, deathly pale as he sat across from a stern, blond man dressed head-to-toe in black. Claire's breath caught in her throat, her nerves screaming a warning to her, begging her to drive like a madwoman.

"Wesker," she breathed, unbelieving. He looked exactly as she remembered with his professional clothing and perfect hair. Suddenly her splendid contribution to the team felt much more dangerous. She drove the car quickly down the city streets and straight out onto the highway. After a five hour driving marathon, she stopped and pulled into a rest area. She flipped her phone open, and her fingers dialed. "Chris?" she asked.

"Hey, sis, what's up? I can't really talk right now; we're getting ready for a meeting." Claire swallowed hard as she fingered the metal case.

"Um, well, that might be good. I'll make it quick. Wesker's not in Europe."

"What are you talking about? No one's seen Wesker in months."

"He's in Boston." There was a long silence.

"You saw him? Claire, he didn't see you, did he? One minute, I'm putting you on speaker phone." There was a click and then nothing. "Can you hear us?"

"Hey, Claire!" Jill greeted. "Leon's here too. So is Rebecca."

"Hi, guys. Look, Wesker's in Boston. I saw him today. He was meeting with someone at a café. I think he was going to pick up some samples."

"What makes you think that?" Leon asked.

"Hey, why were you in Boston?" Chris barged in. Jill told him to settle.

"I was following an Umbrella shipment and this guy. His name is…let me check." She fumbled with the wallet. "Mr. Mark Wimble. I sort of stole his wallet, and the briefcase he had. It's locked, but it looks like ones you've talked about samples being transported in. It's right here in the car with me."

"You stole from Wesker?" Chris exploded. "Claire, did anyone see you? Don't go home, okay? Find somewhere else to stay for safety. My god, Claire, do you know what he could do to you?" Claire huffed indignantly.

"Yes, as a matter of fact, I do. Look, neither of them saw me. Should I mail this case to you or hide it somewhere?" She could picture Chris shaking his head in frustration and worry. She frowned. The last thing she needed was Chris worrying himself sick over this. She was already anxious enough for both of them. Her back seemed to ache with the memory of Wesker grinding her shoulder into the ground.

"I think it's best you bring it and yourself over here, to us," Jill stated. "Someone saw you at that café, and, if they give a good description, Wesker will figure out it was you. He'll find you if he does. The captain was always tenacious."

"Jill!" Chris said.

"No, Chris, this is the safest thing to do."

"I was wearing my favorite pink jacket, Chris." He was probably dying right now, she was sure. Gosh, she felt stupid for wearing her trademark jacket. _Part of you wanted Wesker to know it was you_, her mind whispered. It was defiance against his treatment of Steve as a test subject, and against his arrogance. To know a Redfield had crossed him would make him rage and Claire smile. Well, there was that, but she hadn't planned on him being there, today.

"Ok. Here…" They gave her a time and plane to take in two days. She scribbled down the information and started the car. "See you in two days, sis, and be careful." She promised and began driving down the highway. She wasn't going to her apartment, but she was going to the university to finish a few items. She was sure she had some time to settle her affairs before leaving.

Meanwhile, a very angry, blond man was standing before a waiter who sheepishly eyed his shoes. Wesker was ever the symbol of controlled power as he waited for a description.

"There was a young woman here about the same time you left with a metal briefcase like you described. It was hard not to notice her. She was wearing a pink jacket and had long, red hair. She winked at me on her way out." Wesker could hardly believe his ears. The description fitted a certain woman he had come to know only briefly. He saw himself standing on Rockfort, his hands roughly holding her still by the hair. _Claire Redfield_. The foolish anti-Umbrella agents were in Europe; his sources confirmed it, and he had known Claire was not with them. He was not surprised she was back in the action, just at the coincidence. He smiled briefly as he strode away. Mr. Wimble was still explaining away his mistake, but Wesker was not listening. This fit into his plans almost too perfectly.


	2. Chapter 2: Author's Note

Note to the Audience:

I do not own any of the characters in this story. Albert, Claire, etc. belong to Capcom. I am merely borrowing them and creating an original story for them to reside in. I am trying to be true to the characters, and I appreciate reviews. This story is actually almost finished, I am merely now posting it, and I will continue to do so in a steady stream.

This will not be one of those unfinished stories, in case you're wondering. I repeat: it is already almost finished.

I hope you enjoy it, and, if you have any suggestions, I will certainly consider them and reedit my story, if I feel so inclined; however, this story is largely my own directive, and I am posting it so that others can enjoy. Plus, I think there need to be a few more Claire/Wesker stories!


	3. Chapter 3: Residential Corporate Design

The shortened quotation comes from William Shakespeare's _King Lear_. I love the bard dearly. But, anyway, I'm trying to give Claire Redfield depth and background that is largely unexplored in the games in order to make her more realistic and complex. Enjoy!

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Chapter 2: Residential Corporate Design

Claire arrived at school late that night and climbed into the shop building through a window. In the darkness, she located a power saw and began carefully grinding away at the lock on the suitcase. The metal eventually gave, and she found herself staring at a padded case containing three vials, all with a dark purple liquid inside. She carefully removed one, and wrapped it in enough bubble wrap for ten packages. Then she slid it into a box and taped it shut. She wrote down an address she had been told the others were staying at for the next week. In case she didn't make it, at least one sample would.

After a night spent in the car, Claire visited her professors to tell them that her brother had a medical emergency and she would be gone for a while. Everything would be fine, except with Dr. Bartle, who insisted she remain for the short class that started in fifteen minutes. It was her playwright class, and she was supposed to present a monologue today. As long as she did that, her grade would not suffer for extended absence. Assignments could always be e-mailed from afar. What harm could a fifteen-minute presentation do? Who said Wesker even knew it was her who had his samples?

"Oh, reason not the deed!" She began distractedly from _King Lear_. It was a lamenting speech by Lear about his madness and pity of his life. Soon she was lost in it, words pouring from her lips like golden thread, everyone in the class fixated on her. She had that effect when she recited, for her energy and emotion gave the words life as few people could, and she loved it. By the third line, her eyes were closed, but her hands continued to gesture. "Oh, Fool, I shall go mad!" There was a pause, and then the class applauded. Claire opened her eyes and smiled.

"Who would like to follow that?" the professor joked. "You may go, Miss Redfield." She thanked him and turned to leave, noticing that the door was in the process of closing, but giving it no significance. She paraded boldly from the room, spirits high from her presentation. She turned to go down the hall, but loud clapping stopped her. It was slow, paced clapping that broke an otherwise quiet path. It came from her back, and she stopped, turning with dread in intuition.

"Very lovely, Miss Redfield," Wesker's voice drawled. He was walking toward her with controlled strides under his long, black overcoat. "I had no idea you studied literature. How very cultured and unlike your brother," he mocked. His voice was laced with the command and sarcasm that so distinctly marked him. Claire did not wait for more. She ran, but Wesker was superhumanly fast. He grabbed her elbow and forced her against the wall. She glared at him and felt terror creep up her spine. "We need to talk."

"I have no idea what you're talking about, _Wesker_," she protested with emphasized scorn on his name as she tried to tug her arm away. It only made him squeeze harder, effectively making her wince in pain.

"You're saying some other red-headed, pink jacket-wearing girl stole my samples?" He towered over her and crowded her space. "Let's take this conversation somewhere more private." Claire tried to kick him, causing him to slam her into the wall. "Don't try my patience," he warned. Just then, several professors rounded the corner and caught sight of the two. "Don't make a scene or you might force my hand on some innocent bystander." He released her, and Claire knew better than to think he wouldn't hurt or even kill someone who tried to interfere. So he walked forward, daring her to defy him. Claire suddenly felt utterly helpless and hated him the more for it.

She fell instep beside him, and they walked silently out of the building and by students and teachers blissfully unaware of her plight. She tried to let him gain several steps on her, but he wouldn't allow it. He always matched his pace with hers, and he smiled coldly at her attempt to slip away. Claire knew she had to try something as the crowd began to thin.

"This way, Miss Redfield," Wesker stated, heading for a sunny bench detached from the crowd. Claire paused, unsure if he was serious as she watched him sit. She remained standing, staring at him. He commanded her to do the same by peering over the tops of his glasses. The red orbs found hers and ignited memories of seeing Chris fight him in Antarctica.

"I _used_ to like sitting here," she stated in a small show of defiance, keeping as much space as possible between them. Wesker seemed to be in a good mood, because he merely smiled at her comment. "What do you want?"

"Are you are as oblivious as your brother, dear heart? I want my samples back." Claire was not looking at him but at the other students and hoping that someone she knew would interrupt, but no one did.

"Will you kill me once you have them?" Wesker leaned back against the bench and laid an arm lazily across the top, his fingers behind Claire's shoulder.

"I could," he mused, just to threaten her. "But I was planning on paying you a visit in the near future anyway. No, Miss Redfield, you are more useful to me alive, but it is your choice whether we do this the hard way or the easy way." Claire wanted to rip his eyes out and wipe that smug look off of his face. She had no way to escape him, and she knew it.

"They're in my car." Wesker silently watched the people file by, unspeaking until Claire could no longer take it. "If we're not in a hurry, I'm grabbing a slushy." Wesker turned his head to her and Claire had a feeling she would have received punishment in a more isolated setting. To her surprise Wesker kept a steady expression. He looked so damn normal sitting in the sunlight, lounging. She had only meant the comment as a sarcastic jest to break her own tension. When situations grew difficult, she couldn't stand inaction.

"Make it quick. You have exactly three minutes before I come and get you." Stunned, she stood and slowly walked away, expecting him to painfully pull her back by her ponytail at any moment. But he didn't. She was quite a distance away when she seriously considered escaping. She paused and turned to look at Wesker. He was still lounging, watching her with a smile. Her stomach twisted into a knot. She hadn't really gotten away with the comment. She was going to go in that line, get food, and return like an obedient puppy because three minutes didn't give her enough time to get away. She felt sick as she realized that. It went against Redfield logic. It would have been better if he had simply beaten her. _Bastard_, she thought as she placed her order.

She returned with a backpack stuffed with food products and a slushy in hand. She wasn't even enjoying it, but she sipped at it while Wesker stood to join her.

"It's time we were going." She wanted to tell him to go to hell, but she was already pushing her luck, and she knew it. This man had murdered and betrayed many people. She couldn't imagine what he would do to her if she pressed his buttons too far. For now, she kept her mouth shut and pivoted, leading him to her old, beaten Chevrolet Cavalier. When they reached it, she untied the trunk. A rusty hole in the roof of the trunk had a rope trialing out of it that tied to the bumper. She did not know why, for she was very unapologetic about her income, but she felt slightly embarrassed untying a trunk in front of a man so obviously well-off as Wesker.

"It better still be there," he warned, eyeing her security precautions. Claire pulled out the briefcase and handed it to him.

"If it looks worthless, people leave it alone," she answered, leaning against the trunk with her arms crossed. "You have what you wanted." _So let me go_. She didn't say more, but watched him expectantly. She was completely unsure of what would happen next. Wesker walked forward and gripped her chin, hard, pulling her closer to him.

"I suggest you listen well," he stated darkly. "I have been very tolerant of your tongue so far, but I am not known for taking lip from anyone. You will accompany me and do exactly as I say. Now, grab your bag. We're leaving." He led her to another parking lot where a black Audi sat. It looked extremely out of place among the student cars, and Claire would have found the thought of Wesker standing amid cheap, college students amusing if observing from afar. But, as it was, she was nervous and fearful. Once in that car, her chances of escape were slim. Going to death quietly was not something she wanted to do, and yet she was scared to defy him. She was particularly scared that he'd turn her into a test subject.

She carefully slipped a hand into her pant pocket and waited for the right opportunity. The parking lot was devoid of life, giving her a chance that she couldn't have taken before. He opened her side of the car and turned to motion her inside. As he turned, he saw the flash of the switchblade and barely lifted his arm in time to stop it. It was poised in the air, a mere two inches from his face. He tightened his grip until Claire yelped in pain and dropped the blade.

"The hard way it is," Wesker commented as a fist crashed into her temple. Her vision blackened and she fell forward into his arms. Wesker lifted her body and placed her inside the car, tilting the seat backward so she wouldn't fall forward. The backpack was tossed into the backseat with the briefcase. He took a moment to look at her. She appeared just as she had on Rockfort. Her breathing was steady and loose hair from her ponytail fell about her face. He searched her body and found another knife in her boot. The horrors of Umbrella had certainly made her quick to resort to violence, he mused. She was as bold as Chris, and just as foolish. He climbed into the driver's seat and the black vehicle rolled away.

******************

Perhaps it was minutes or hours later. Claire could not be sure as her eyes slowly flickered open. Her head hurt like she had been partying hard the night before, but she knew she hadn't. Her body stiffened as she realized where she was, and she remained still, examining the area. She was in an empty room with fluorescent lights overhead. The cot was actually comfortable, and her head was sunk into a fluffy pillow. A blanket was laid over top of her, and she was utterly alone. She sat up and leaned against the wall. Her backpack was gone. It was cool. She examined herself and noticed no damage other than a pinprick red dot on the inside of her elbow. For a terrified second she considered that she had been infected with something, but no, she would not be in a normal cell if that were true.

She moved to the door and found it locked. Frustrated, she gave the handle one sharp tug before slinking back to the cot. She flopped onto its surface and sighed. What would Chris and Leon think? She had managed to get herself captured by Wesker again. She needed rescuing _again_. They would probably think her inadequate forever now. Well, not unskilled or inadequate per say, but probably someone who recklessly got in trouble. She didn't think of herself as reckless, maybe headstrong, but not reckless. _Why did you have to take that briefcase?_ She scolded herself for not wearing a disguise or at least something not so obviously Claire Redfield like.

She lay on her back and stared at the ceiling. She realized she was thirsty, but there was no water. There wasn't even a way to ask for it, and she didn't want to ask Wesker for anything. The moment she realized she was helpless to get her own water was the moment the tears started. She cried into her pillow as her situation hit her full force. Wesker held power over her, and she was probably about to be used again. He always used people as tools to an end, but she couldn't imagine what that current end would be.

"I see you're awake," Wesker's voice interrupted her thoughts as the door opened. Claire sat up and warily watched him enter and shut the door. She had stopped crying, but she knew her eyes must have been red and puffy. He gave her a long look, taking in her disheveled appearance. "Thirsty, dear heart?" Claire glared at him and shrugged. Then she saw him lift a water bottle and waggle it at her. "Very well." He lowered the bottle, and could see the internal struggle on Claire's face.

"Please leave it," Claire said, hating how timid she sounded. "For later." He tossed it to her and seemed amused that she intentionally set it aside on the floor. "Why am I here, Wesker? I have nothing of use to you. I don't know what the anti-umbrella forces are up to, and I won't tell you where Chris is."

"I already know where you're darling brother is," he answered smugly. "But you will be of great use, Miss Redfield, more than you realize. I came to offer you a choice. You may remained locked in this room or behave yourself and come out." Claire felt a rush of hope. Perhaps an escape possibility would arise. "But I must caution you. I can put you in far worse places than this if you should be foolish." His impenetrable face seemed to be waiting for an answer, but Claire could never be sure what he wanted.

"Deal," she answered. This seemed to satisfy him, for he left the room, but the door remained unlocked. Claire chugged the water as soon as he was gone and kept the empty bottle in case she could refill it herself. She exited the room to find herself in a corridor with several similar rooms to her own. The door at the end of the corridor led to a larger room with a small sitting area. Two couches sat around a low table at the center. A kitchen was connected nearby, and a large open serving window in the wall looked into it from the sitting area. There was a large door, but locked, and a metal staircase leading up to a landing overlooking the room. Two more doors were located there. One was locked and one was a bathroom.

"Residential corporate design," she sighed. Everywhere she went things were gray and white. Trapped and frustrated, she flopped onto one of the couches. She noticed a video camera in the upper corner of the room. Great. She hated being watched.

She entered the kitchen in the false hope of finding a knife, but there were none. The cabinets were completely bare but for several boxes of instant noodles. Back to the couch. It was going to be a really long day. She leaned into the fabric and began softly speaking to herself, repeating words from anything and everything she had read and could remember. Her eyes drooped shut.


	4. Chapter 4: Trouble

Chapter 3: Trouble

The next day, Claire kept herself busier. She did pushups and sit-ups, ate noodles, and showered, but it still only killed three hours. Around noon, the locked door upstairs opened and Wesker stepped out. He was wearing a black t-shirt, pants, and boots, and his sunglasses ever helped to keep his face a mask. Claire was in the middle of sitting aimlessly on the couch.

"Enjoying your stay, Miss Redfield?" he asked with the slightest of grins as he descended the stairs. Claire couldn't keep her body from tensing as he approached her back. She crossed her legs to look more relaxed.

"The quality of entertainment is lacking," she stated blandly, focusing on his form as it passed and entered the kitchen.

"How unfortunate," Wesker mocked. Claire heard the microwave start, and was eager for him to be gone, but hours of being alone with nothing to do were getting to her. She needed some answers. She followed him into the kitchen.

"How long am I going to be kept here?" she asked, keeping close to the door in case she had to run.

"That depends," he answered. "Suffice it to say, however long you are required." Claire did not like that sound of that.

"And why am I required?" she pressed. Wesker removed a bowl of noodles from the microwave and sat at one of the barstools around the center countertop. She had not thought he needed to eat anymore. Chris had mentioned that he was no longer human, but apparently he still ate, if only occasionally, as the few food options suggested.

"I am not in the habit of discussing my plans with prisoners." Claire suddenly recalled his words from earlier, at the university.

"This has something to do with Chris and the other operatives, doesn't it? You said you were planning to visit me before I stole your samples…" She never finished. Wesker was standing before her, forcing her back into the wall with his mere presence. She tried to maintain what dignity she had left by not pressing flat against it.

"Indeed, dear heart," he spoke lowly. A hand came up and ran gently down her cheek. "But I just had a very large setback in my plans and am in no mood to talk about your brother." His tone alone kept Claire silent. An angry Wesker was extremely dangerous. He stepped back and returned to his seat, and Claire released her breath. Chris was a touchy subject with Wesker. "Chris may find less time to interfere with my associates if his sister's life is on the line." Claire cringed, feeling the word liability stamped on her forehead.

"Yeah, well, I hope you're wrong." She pivoted and left the room before he could see that she was under threat of crying. Chris would do something stupid to try and save her. She knew that full well, and it could mean his life being terminated. Wesker probably knew that too. Chris would get reckless, and he was the only close person in Claire's life now that Leon was gone. She settled on the couch, and reflected on the possible doom scenarios that could await her and Chris—perhaps all of the anti-Umbrella members, if Chris tried to be a hero.

"You're upset that he'll come after you?" Wesker asked. Claire realized he was standing over her. She turned from the inside of the couch and sat up. "I must underrate my hospitality." His voice was mocking, but his face straight.

"He'd be of better use blowing up your associates," she stated. "Coming here is a waste of time. You'll just…" she stared at him, trying to convey her anger to the red orbs behind the glasses. "…kill him," she finished. "As long as he's alive, he should be doing his job to stop monsters like you, not…" _Chasing after his little sister_.

"Not risking his life for you," Wesker finished, face blank. "How very noble of you, dear heart. I had no idea you held such sentiments, but your brother will not stop my plans indefinitely. Rest assured that dying to save you or not won't affect things in the long run." He stated it as fact, as if there was no hope for his opponents. Claire felt anger boil in her system because of it. His confidence was infuriating, but, in his presence like this, the finality of his words hit Claire hard.

"Believe what you want, Wesker. Nothing is set in stone." Wesker regarded her with what seemed like interest. His hand found her face and turned it upward so they were looking at each other.

"Just as mouthy as him. I hadn't had time to notice on Rockfort. You have the most amusing notions, dear heart. It would be too easy to change that." The low threat was meant to break her spirit, and Claire desperately opposed it.

"Bite me." The sharp sting of pain that radiated across her face made her head spin. She lifted a hand to her cheek. Wesker had hit her, hard, but not nearly as hard as he could have. Before she recovered, he was holding her up against the wall by her throat. She struggled to breath and lashed out with her legs to no avail. Her hands grappled with the tightness constraining her airway.

"Remember what I can do, Miss Redfield." Claire did not meet his gaze and kept struggling. When she spoke, her voice was a crackling gasp.

"How could I forget?" Wesker smirked humorlessly, dropped her, and left the room, back to the door on the second floor. Claire sat still for some time, considering her options. She realized that she basically had none. Wesker was worse than a monster, she decided. He was a heartless chunk of ambitious flesh. What could drive a man to surrender his humanity for power? She had always wondered if he regretted that at any level.

*******************

Albert Wesker was sitting in a chair before numerous monitor screens in a darkened room. He glanced at the screens and tapped his fingers on the arm of his chair in thought. No recent activity by his enemies—not that they were important—and no word from his man in Brazil. The old facility had been revived and was currently being manned. Research would commence soon, and few survivors knew that there was a plant in Brazil. It gave him the opportunity for some tamper-free test runs with the new virus shipped from Russia. The old network was being reestablished, and his opponents could do little to stop the process, but that was only a show of progress for his "bosses". The new virus was a secret for him alone, and the men in Brazil were under his watch, not the cooperation's.

Speaking of the virus…he stood and walked over to the briefcase. Business had kept him busy yesterday, but now he could devote time to their care. He flipped the top open, well aware that Claire had broken the lock. He paused. The third sample was missing. He slammed the lid shut and marched for the door.

"Where is it, Miss Redfield?" Claire was standing and trying to keep distance between herself and Wesker, but there was nowhere to go. The steel in his step was unmistakable as he approached. Again with her back to the wall; how she hated that. Wesker removed his glasses and stared her down with red eyes that made Claire's insides curl in fear. She knew exactly what he was referring to. _Pick your battles carefully, Claire._

"It's in Europe," she answered, voice soft. "The operatives will have it soon." Wesker stared at her in disbelief.

"Do you have any idea how stupid it was to mail a highly contagious and fragile virus in the regular mail?" he seethed. "And you've set my work back by weeks!"

"I didn't have many options," she protested. Wesker slammed his fist into the wall, and Claire jumped. Her eyes widened as she saw the dent it left in the metal right beside her head. He glared at her, and she shuddered at the controlled rage coiled behind his tense muscles. She was too shaken to speak.

"Your life just became very important," he stated. "Come with me." Claire followed him into the previously locked room and found herself staring at computer screens and a several desks. He reached her backpack and unzipped it, removing her cell phone. He flipped it open and checked her address book before sitting and dialing a number on a different phone attached to his desk. Claire stood by silently. "Hello, Chris," he said, and Claire's heart jumped. She could only imagine her brother's response. "It's nice to hear from you too," he chuckled. "Your sister recently acquired something that belongs to me. She mailed part of it to you. Unless you'd like her genetics altered, you will return it." There was a long pause, during which the threats made Claire blanch. "Of course. Dear heart." He held the phone to her.

"Chris?"

"Claire, are you okay?"

"Yes. I'm fine. Don't come after me, Chris. Promise you won't. You have to finish your job!" But her head was screaming to be rescued by anyone. Wesker grabbed the phone from her.

"Self-sacrifice is worthless, Miss Redfield. Chris, I will contact you in several days. By then, the sample should be in your possession. We'll negotiate an exchange at that time." He clicked the phone off, and turned to find Claire murdering him with her eyes. He smiled. "You may go, Miss Redfield." He sat in his chair and began typing on the keyboard. Claire watched the screens zoom into a map of Brazil. Wesker swiveled to level his eyes at her.

"You underestimate us, Wesker," she spat. "It's going to cost you." It sounded foolish to say at the time, but she held her head high and left the room. Wesker smirked. No, he gave Chris and his band of rabble credit for having the potential to strain his progress, but they did not stand a chance at total victory. Miss Redfield had a most stubborn streak. It was probably the only thing that would keep her intact throughout this.

****************

Meanwhile: Somewhere in France

"Chris?" Jill called. She laid a hand on his shoulder. He was sitting alone on the porch of the small house they were staying at. "It's going to be okay. We'll get Claire back." Chris lowered his head.

"Wesker will hurt her, Jill. Claire's a smart girl, but her mouth's worse than mine. How can she ask me to leave her there?" Jill sat close to him and wrapped her arms around his torso.

"She only said that because she doesn't want to risk our mission, and she's not a girl, Chris." Chris smiled grimly. "She's not. She's a woman, and she's seen horrors most people can't imagine. If anyone can survive the captain, it's her." But in the back of her mind, Jill knew how manipulative Wesker was. Claire might be able to defend herself against a normal man, but Wesker was in a different class, and she would need to guard her mind more than her body. Chris leaned into her embrace.

"He'll pay, Jill. He'll pay for everyone he's ever made suffer." He gritted his teeth together and squeezed his fists. Jill recognized his anger and could do little to soothe it. She wished he wouldn't work himself up like this. "That, I promise."


	5. Chapter 5: Dear Heart

The quotation in this chapter comes from a fabulous and moving book called _The Angel of History_, by Carolyn Forche. If you love sorrowful elegance and historical subjects, this thin, poetry book is for you!

Chapter 4: Dear Heart

Claire tried to keep herself occupied. She stood in the open area beside the couches and crouched into a fighting stance. She had to keep busy or face sitting and contemplating doom. As she punched into the air, she wondered if Wesker was monitoring her. She sighed and sat on a couch. She was alone with nothing to do. By afternoon, even Wesker was looking like good company, and she did have a lot of questions. He wouldn't kill her until he got his sample back, she realized. She decided to risk his annoyance at an interruption. Of course, none of her reasoning kept her hand from shaking as she knocked.

_Tap. Tap. Tap._

It seemed that Wesker would ignore her, but then the door opened.

"Can I help you with something, Miss Redfield?" Claire stood her ground. She kept reminding herself that she needed to be polite. She glanced behind him toward the screens, seeing a string of numbers coursing over several.

"Do you sit in there all day?" she asked. Wesker stared at her questioningly. Claire quickly hurried to her point. "I was wondering if I could have a few supplies—nothing much, just something to keep me occupied. Maybe some paper and pencils, my MP3. It's all in my backpack."

"Be my guest." Wesker stepped back into the room and sat at his desk. Claire entered behind him and moved to her backpack. She checked the main compartment and found her food and notebooks. The next contained pencils, gum, music, and—she glanced furtively at Wesker—her phone, as well as a few books. She zipped it shut and slung it over her back. Wesker was busy typing, and she openly stared at him. "Yes?" he asked without turning his head.

"I've never seen someone spend so much time shut away in the dark." Wesker again swiveled and sat facing her. "You never come out to sleep or shower or…anything." He rested his head on his hand and tilted it to the side.

"Most everyday human tasks are no longer necessary for me."

"Oh," Claire said. "So you just work 24/7?" If she didn't need to sleep, the last thing she would do was sit in front of computer screens all day. She noticed a map of Brazil was still on a screen nearest Wesker. The man's lips twitched upward in the corners as he observed her.

"Are you really interested in my personal life, or is this an attempt to prolong your spying?" Claire shut the door behind her. She moved back to her former cell and sat on the cot. She flipped her phone open and quickly dialed for Chris, but the call never went through. There was no signal in this place. She stood and walked about the rooms, checking everywhere without luck. Wesker was a bastard stringing her hope along like that. Frustrated, she tossed the phone into her bag and removed potato chips. She munched away in the sitting area, eyes on Wesker's door. He just sat in there working? There were no other people, no distractions; he just typed and schemed away. She couldn't understand how Wesker could stand to be so alone. She had been here—she checked her watch—almost three days, and she had never felt so lonely and isolated in her life. _But you're human_, she reminded herself. _Wesker cares only about himself_.

She retrieved a book from her backpack and almost smiled despite her circumstances: _The Angel of History_. She curled up on the couch and opened the book, reading aloud to herself. Poetry always sounded better aloud. She did not see Wesker for the remainder of the day, but, come late night, he left his room. Claire was sitting on the kitchen counter, and he stopped, watching her. Her back was to him, and so she had not noticed him yet.

"You loved the shabbiness of the world: countries invaded, cities bombed, houses whose roofs have fallen in, women who lost their men, orphans, amputees, the war wounded. What you did not love any longer was a world that had lost its soul." Claire's voice trailed off as Wesker entered the kitchen. What was he doing here? He couldn't possibly need to eat again.

"I apologize, dear heart," he said. Claire's mouth almost dropped in shock, but then she recognized the mocking edge to his voice. "I mistakenly compared you and your brother too closely. You clearly distinguish yourself from him."

"Do you need something from me?" Claire cautiously asked, suspicious of his presence. Wesker was not known for acting without purpose. Jill had stressed that to her.

"Excuse me for leaving my dark, dingy hole." He leaned against the wall, looking like a relaxed panther. "I am curious as to how you would react to Chris leaving you here." Claire closed her book and set it aside.

"I don't understand."

"It's a hypothetical question, and quite simple. You don't want Chris to risk his life for you," Wesker reminded condescendingly. Claire's grip on the countertop's edges tightened. "But you know he won't take your advice. So how would you react if he didn't even try? Say he leaves you at my mercy." Claire lowered her vision and thought. She'd be relieved and sad at the same time, she decided, but she wouldn't admit that to Wesker.

"I'd die with the satisfaction of knowing he'd kill you one day. Even if he didn't come, Wesker, I'd know it was because he had no choice, not because he abandoned me." Wesker arched an eyebrow. "We're too close for that."

"What makes you think you'd die?" Claire shot him a disbelieving stare.

"Once I'm no longer of use, I doubt you'll keep me alive. Why would you?" Wesker smiled slightly at the truth of the statement.

"You underestimate your usefulness again, Miss Redfield. I could use you for any number of things. Surely you've realized that these corporations don't waste healthy bodies?" Claire's face paled considerably. "And you'll always be valuable simply because your captivity distracts your brother."

"You mean causes him intense anxiety and worry," she corrected. Distract was too neutral a word to describe what Wesker could make her brother endure through her. "That's why you were going to take me in the first place," she realized. "You wanted to hurt Chris." She renewed her inner hate toward the man as he nodded. They stood facing each other in a span of silence, during which Claire cooled her nerves. "Would you like to know what it's about?"

"Excuse me?"

"The book." She motioned toward it.

"Enlighten me."

"It's about all the people who have suffered throughout history—people who were victims of someone's callous ambition." Her voice held a hardness that caused Wesker to walk closer, reminding her of her vulnerability. "The ambitions of people like you," Claire finished. Wesker was now standing toe-to-toe with her. He released a small chuckle. "If you only came down here to taunt and laugh at me," Claire said bitterly, "Then I'd prefer to be alone."

"You cannot give me orders, dear heart." Claire did not understand why he had to touch her face so softly. "And I am not laughing at your words, merely your foolish insistence on throwing them in my face. People suffer all the time. They suffer while you live nicely in a rich country." Claire tried to protest, but he plowed over her words. "I am bringing nothing new to the world, and sacrifices have to be made for the end result. When I'm done, the world will be completely transformed." Claire hated him being so close. She could more clearly see his eyes, and they threatened pain. She wanted to tell him he'd lose, but the words caught in her throat as he pulled away.

"Behave yourself, dear heart." And he was gone just as suddenly and silently as he had come. Claire felt entirely out of the loop being trapped here, especially when Wesker was around. She could not fathom how many angles there were to his agenda. She doubted whether anyone really knew. He was cool, controlled, and unpredictable at the same time. And very dangerous, her mind warned. It wasn't just that fact that he was inhuman and accustomed to using physical force. It was that he had successfully tricked Jill, Rebecca, Chris, and the entire Stars force. He had been her brother's role model. No one suspected him of being more than the aloof alpha male of the squad until the killing began. _Traitor_, she thought distastefully, her mind remembering…

_"You must be the lovely Claire Redfield," Wesker drawled. Claire spun. Her first impression was that this was not a man to be tampered with. He walked as if he owned Rockfort. She never stood a chance. She was quickly on the ground, staring up at him as he held her there with a foot. He pressed hard enough that she knew she'd have a terrible bruise, and she was sure he was going to unload his gun in her head. His head tilted, and she saw beneath the sunglasses. She gasped._

_"Uncomfortable, Miss Redfield?" Yes, but not so much from the pain as what she was seeing. He pulled her to her feet and propelled her along the corridor at his side. The zombies were no match for him. Some didn't even seem to notice him. Claire remembered how strong his arms felt around her as he held her, ready to open the door and move into the cold, Arctic wind. He wasn't even wearing a heavy jacket. _

_"You're not human," she whispered, like it was a ghastly secret. Wesker turned her in her arms so they were face to face. That was the first time his hand gently held her cheek, and it baffled her. The soft touch, even through the leather gloves, was unexpected after the abuse. He came very close to her face._

_"No, dear heart, I'm not," he said. "Brace yourself." The door opened and icy wind blasted her senses. All she was aware of was Wesker and his tight grip on her. _

"Dear heart," she mouthed. She had not understood it then, and she still didn't.


	6. Chapter 6: A Rude Awakening

Chapter 5: A Rude Awakening

Wesker was not expecting a message to arrive late the next evening. He had been sitting at his desk, receiving an update on a new research project when it arrived. His phone rang, and he picked it up, recognizing the caller as Ada Wong as soon as he answered it.

"They moved faster than expected. Neal leaked information, and they know you have the samples at your location. There's reason to believe that an old Umbrella employee is aiding them. Be advised to leave your location quickly."

"Is our friend Neal dead?"

"I took care of it before they could question him further."

"Good. Continue keeping tabs on them and find out who their inside man is. I want him taken out as soon as possible."

"Understood."

Claire was asleep on the couch when the alarm sounded. She sat up and checked her watch: 1:35 am. Damn the timing of Umbrella's disasters. She stood and gathered her belongings. She had shouldered her backpack by the time Wesker emerged from his room. He had a handgun prepared.

"We're leaving, Miss Redfield." He did not wait for an answer as the formerly locked doors opened for him. Claire despised herself for it, but she positioned herself as close to Wesker as possible.

"Is it a biohazard?" she asked fearfully.

"No, but it could quickly turn into one." He rushed down the many corridors, sometimes passing men in white lab coats or uniforms running in a different direction. Claire was surprised, having thought they were completely alone. That life should be so active nearby the slow-paced world of Wesker's dungeon seemed unbelievable. She noticed that Wesker had the metal briefcase of samples firmly gripped in his hands as they continued their course.

Suddenly Claire heard gunfire mixed with the sirens. They never slowed, not until they reached a door where Wesker quickly entered an access code. They stepped into a glass bridge overlooking a large lab filled with liquid-filled containers. Claire could see creatures suspended in them. Some of them were broken, and dead scientists lay about the ground.

"They would do well to avoid shooting the tanks," Wesker dryly commented. Claire had no idea who "they" were, and she didn't ask. As they exited the bridge, they met a zombie, but Wesker finished it with one blow to the head.

"There are more!" Claire warned, hearing moans from down the hallway they needed to navigate. Wesker paused.

"Those aren't zombies." Claire looked horrified.

"Then what?"

"Wraiths." _That explains a lot_, Claire thought sarcastically. Then it rounded the corner and began lurching toward them. Claire wasn't quite sure what it was. It looked somewhat human but with tentacles attached where hands should have been. It had no eyes and foamed at the mouth as it slopped forward. Claire desperately wanted a weapon, but Wesker dispatched the monster with multiple shots to the head. He grabbed her arm and kept her moving at an incredible pace until they entered a landing overlooking a large room with test tube strewn tables. Claire perked her ears up.

"Do you hear that sucking sound?" she whispered. Wesker and her scanned the room to no avail. Claire took another step and felt hot, putrid breath drift under her nose. Carefully, she looked downward and through the iron grating of the landing. Her heart nearly stopped. "It's underneath us!" she yelled, but it was too late. A tentacle swept over the landing, grabbed Wesker's ankle, and pulled him over the edge. "Wesker!" Claire watched in horror as her lifeline landed and began one-on-one combat with the creature. The briefcase remained on the landing.

Claire saw her opportunity and faltered. More creatures were entering the room, and Wesker had lost his gun. She bit her lip and grabbed the briefcase. She saw another tentacle creature coming for her on the landing, and she ran. An occasion zombie got in her way, but she smashed their heads with the metal case, sometimes pummeling them into the ground. Blood sprayed across her shirt and pants, some getting on her face, but she kept moving.

"Finally," she sighed, seeing a fallen guard. She crouched and stared at him a moment, making sure he wasn't going to move, before prying the shotgun from his fingers. "Hell yes." She favored shotguns. They could put a large hole in pretty much anything. She transferred the briefcase to her backpack and kept the shotgun ready for action. She wondered where Wesker was and suddenly felt a pang of guilt. She had left him to die. He was going to get her out alive, and she left him to die. Even though he was using her and he was a monster, she couldn't shake how human he looked with a bloodied hand and the undead advancing on his fallen form. She tightened her nerves and pressed onward, trying to navigate the halls without him.

The intercom crackled and a female voice started talking. Claire, frustrated as she was, mimicked the annoying voice.

"The self- destruct system is now activated," she mocked. "God, I hate that damn thing." She unloaded a slug into another zombie. Her chances of escape were slim, but not hopeless. She would never allow hope to be taken from her, even if everything else had been. Just then, the grate above her popped open and a licker slipped out of it. She instinctively fired, but missed. The licker pounced on top of her, sending the gun skittering away. Claire screamed and turned her teary face away from the foul creature's descending mouth.

The bite never came—only a few drops of saliva.

"Wesker?" He grabbed the licker and threw it away from them. Claire accepted his offered hand, which jerked her to her feet so quickly she thought it was dislocated.

"Move!" Wesker ordered, half-dragging, half-carrying her toward a nearby door. Claire was unsure how they managed it, but trees surrounded them by the time the explosion happened. It lit the night sky and cast long shadows behind them. In the light, Claire turned to Wesker and noticed that his clothing was torn, and blood decorated his body in large patches and lines. A dry, brownish coating obscured half of his face, and his sunglasses were gone. He turned to her, and red eyes connected with blue amidst the orange blaze before them.

"Are you okay?" She felt odd asking Wesker, of all people, such a question, but it was the first thing that came to her lips. She shivered in the night cold as the heat from the fire began to die.

"Do you have the samples?" he replied, much more concerned with them than his health. Claire nodded. "Good." He flipped his phone open, and Claire listened as he arranged for a helicopter to pick them up. "Do you need medical attention, Miss Redfield?" Claire sighed.

"I've survived worse." Wesker smiled somewhat and pocketed his phone. "What happened?" Wesker moved closer to her.

"Your friends are not the only thorn in my side. Rival researchers, companies, and governments are also a problem." Claire wrapped her arms around herself. "Cold?" Claire couldn't deny it. "I can tell it's cold, but it doesn't bother me," he commented absently. "Sometimes I can't even detect subtle differences in temperature." They stood closely until the hum of a helicopter was heard in the distance. "I'm afraid I can't risk you knowing our location, and, since I don't have a sedative, this will have to do."

"What will have to do?" Claire barely had time to ask before her world blackened. Wesker carried her toward the landing helicopter and held her for the ride's duration. She lay in his arms like a crumpled doll as he listened to a report on the public cleanup plan.


	7. Chapter 7: Pin Pricks

Chapter 6: Pin Pricks

Claire's face screwed into pain as she awoke. How many times could she get hit in the head before suffering permanent brain damage? She realized she was lying on a medical bed in a very white laboratory. A voice was talking somewhere nearby. Wesker?

"You're sure Nash was behind it? Hmmm. Find him, but don't kill him. I want to know if he had accomplices." Claire tried to sit up but fell backward in dizziness. She heard footsteps drawing closer, and Wesker's all black attire came into view. He pulled a rolling stool over to her and sat beside her. Claire flinched as he began disinfecting cuts on her arm. It stung, but at least she wouldn't get an infection.

"Would a blindfold have been too much to ask?" she grunted.

"It wouldn't have helped with your ears." Claire tilted her head toward him.

"I can do it myself," she stated. She hated feeling like he was taking care of her. Wesker immediately set the medical supplies aside and stood, walking away with a cold smirk. Claire frowned and gingerly righted herself. She wished she could lie down and sleep, but she didn't trust herself sleeping with Wesker so close. "I hate when you act like you care," she announced. "You can save yourself the effort in the future." Wesker had been busy staring into a microscope, but he glanced at her as he chuckled.

"I'm not acting like I care. If you die of an infection, which is quite possible in a biohazard disaster site, you're of no use to me." Claire noticed the briefcase on the counter beside him.

"Wesker, why do you need the third sample when you already have two?"

"They are three separate variants of the same virus. Just because they look the same doesn't mean they are, Miss Redfield." Claire would have ranted if Chris had dared use such a tone with her. She didn't even give a smartass reaction this time. Her body was sore enough without an additional beating. "They took months to process."

"They look like ones I saw on Rockfort," Claire commented, recalling the lab Alexia had been stored in. Wesker transferred a slide from the microscope to a case.

"You have a good memory," he continued. "They are indeed derived from Alexia's virus. Mr. Burnside may have died soon after his exposure, but I managed to gain a sample from him. With a bit of refinement, it will be ready for use."

"You're a damned bastard, you know that?" Claire exclaimed, catching Wesker's attention. "It's not enough Umbrella murdered him, is it? Now you'll use what's left of him to make more freaks! As if any of them have proven successes!" She felt the pain before she realized what had happened. Wesker had her shoulder in his hands, and he squeezed until Claire screamed, kneeling on the floor and trying to move his hand.

"What did you call me?" he coldly asked. Claire tried to resist, but the pain intensified. "I don't care what you think of me, Miss Redfield, but you are my prisoner, and you will show some respect. What do you say?"

"I'm sorry," Claire ground out, defeated. Wesker pulled her to her feet by the throbbing shoulder and set her back on the bed. His hands landed on either side of where she sat. His back was hunched to bring them to eye-level.

"The experiments serve their purpose and do their job in combat. These samples," he emphasized, "are for a more important goal than them. And there has been at least one success in this company." Claire had no idea what he was talking about, but her eyes had watered, because she could only think of Steve. Wesker watched, expecting tears to fall, but they never did. "Dear heart," he soothed mockingly, standing and putting one hand behind her neck to support her sagging head.

"He was a better man than you," Claire finally said, lifting her head. "You have no right to profit from his death." Wesker's grip softened and his hand found her cheek. His thumb rubbed over it, comfortingly, strangely enough. Claire almost leaned into it, and, when she jerked away, he smirked. It was just one more show of control, she thought, but that did not change how kind it had felt for that brief span. "I hate you."

"I'm sure he was a better man," Wesker agreed. "I've never claimed to be good." Claire huffed, and Wesker lifted her chin. "Claire, you can't right the wrong of the world; you're too weak." She stared at him, surprised both by the use of her first name and the lack of sarcasm in his voice. He returned to his work. "I'll be calling your brother shortly. If he keeps his end of the bargain, you'll be home within a few more days." _Home_, Claire thought warmly. She'd see Chris again.

"Is there a shower around here?" she asked, realizing how filthy she was. "And some clean clothing?" She sniffed her shirt and grimaced. "I smell like licker." Wesker smiled and led Claire to the lab next door. He motioned to the emergency showerhead used to rinse after chemical spills. Claire frowned. "You've got be kidding me."

"This is not a residential lab," Wesker explained. "The hand soap will have to do. There are lab suits in the cabinet over there."

"What if someone comes by?" Claire pressed, eyeing the large window looking into the room from the hall.

"We are alone, Miss Redfield. And I promise not to peek." He parted with a joking smile that made Claire squirm. She examined the showerhead and read the directions while undressing. She did so shyly at first, given the windows, but, of all the things she thought of Albert Wesker, she did not think he was a pervert. She grabbed the handle and pulled.

"OH!" she screeched, so loudly she was sure Wesker had heard. She hoped he hadn't. What if he came to see if something was wrong? "Cold water, cold water," she chanted, soaking herself and then turning the water off to soap. Her mind meandered toward her past and the people she had lost in fighting Umbrella. "Don't dwell on the past, Claire, not now." She had to focus on surviving.

She rinsed and found the lab suits. They were white sets of pants and shirts with optional hoods. She ditched the hood and pulled the rest of the outfit on over her bra and underwear. They weren't made for being worn alone, so she felt the chill of the room through them. She left her hair down and combed it with her fingers. It kept warmth around her neck and shoulders. She was annoyed the find the door was locked, which forced her to knock on the wall for Wesker to come get her.

**************

"Jill, should we let Chris see this?" Leon asked quietly. Jill stood behind him, transfixed on the computer screen before them.

"Let Chris see what?" Chris asked, rounding the corner into their living quarters. He was holding a cup of coffee and scrutinizing his teammates. Leon quickly stood and moved for the door.

"I'm going to see if everyone else is getting their gear ready for the raid. Jill, I think it's best you handle this."

"What?" Chris questioned harshly as Leon left. He did not particularly like Leon, especially when he had a secret. Jill was looking concerned as she moved so he could see the computer screen. "Is that Claire?" Chris dashed forward and sat in the chair. His sister's prostrate form was lying on a medical table, and she looked roughed up. Her clothing was battered, and bloodstains covered it. He played the video again. It only lasted about a minute, but it was enough. Chris slammed his fist onto the tabletop. "YouTube? He posted her on fucking YouTube?"

"Your phone was charging when the call came in, so I answered it. Wesker gave us the link and said that it was a reminder to keep his virus safe." She stayed away from Chris. He was too angry to comfort or confront. He needed to calm down first, and Jill would see that he got the space. "We leave for the raid in thirty minutes. The team will need you in control. I'll see you downstairs." Chris remained staring at the screen for a long time after she left.

"You'll be okay, Claire," he promised. "We'll get you back." His phone rang. "Hello? Wesker, you sick, twisted, freak! How dare you touch her like that!"

"My hands are quite innocent in this matter, Chris, at least this time. I can do much worse than that. Do you have the sample?"

"Yeah, I got it this morning."

"Good. If you want your beautiful sister back, be…" Chris noted the airport on a piece of paper. "Your sister will be seated on the bench closest to Gate 9. You will leave the package on the sink in the men's bathroom at Gate 20. If you do not do so before you go to Gate 9, I'm afraid Miss Redfield will remain with me. Understood?"

"Yeah, I got it, Wesker. Two days from now, two pm." Chris had never wanted to rip someone apart so badly. He had been Claire's protector since they were kids. He was always looking out for her, and not being able to…he sighed. He had failed her. He should have known Wesker wouldn't leave her alone once Chris got more involved with his affairs after Raccoon City. He hoped Claire remembered how to punch where it counted, like he had taught her so many years earlier.

*****************

Claire sat on the table while Wesker continued to work. He frequently left the room for long stretches of time—probably to run further tests. She was eating a muffin—the last of her snack stash—when he returned at one point. He didn't acknowledge her as he busied himself, and that suited her perfectly. She immersed herself in the second book she had with her, a collection of Dostoyevsky. Unfortunately, it was dark and sorrowful, so was of little help for her mood. Her eyes kept flickering to Wesker.

She noticed that he tapped surfaces when thinking, and that he often stopped working to take notes from a computer screen. He moved smoothly and quickly, but not without caution, she thought. Her stomach growled, and Wesker smiled but said nothing. He was going to wait for her to ask. Claire frowned and kept silent.

"You're uncharacteristically quiet, Miss Redfield. Is the book that good?"

"He's always good, just freaking depressing." She tossed the book aside. "Have you read him?" Claire had to admit that she was sick of silence.

"I appreciate his grasp of psychology." Claire was not surprised. Her stomach growled again, and she swung her legs off the table. She had hidden a piece of paper inside her book, and she jotting a few notes down.

"Who's Nash?" she carefully asked. "I know that name. He has something to do with Umbrella, right?" She vaguely remembered a Nash being mentioned by Annette in Raccoon City. He was some type of agent? Wesker remained silent and considered what to tell her.

"He used to work for Umbrella, and he was very good at making people disappear." Wesker's mouth sealed itself, and Claire knew she would be pushing his tolerance with another question, so she simply made a statement.

"He's one of the thorns in your side." Wesker didn't respond, so Claire assumed she was correct. She cautiously wrote a note while her stomach rumbled. "I give up. Is there a vending machine around here?" Wesker smiled.

"Down the hall and to the left." Claire started to walk and stopped.

"Could I please have some spare change?" she asked as politely as possible, frowning the entire time. Wesker handed her one dollar. Her temper flared. She was way hungrier than that, but he only smirked. "How generous. Thank you," she muttered. She stormed out of the room, too ashamed to ask for further money from him. She easily found the vending machines and stared at the collection of honeybuns, pop tarts, Slim Jims, and other miscellaneous junk foods. "My health is disintegrating," she grumbled. She looked at the dollar in her hand, then the machine. No one was here, and it wasn't like she hadn't destroyed Umbrella property before.

"What the hell?" She smashed the glass front with her foot and raided the contents for all it was worth. For the first time in a week, she was elated. When she walked back into the lab and flopped an armful of food into her small corner—the only place Wesker allowed her to eat—he stared at her with an incredibly amused expression. "What? They can bill the company." Work continued in silence, but the mood was considerably lighter.


	8. Chapter 8: A New Enemy

Thank you to everyone who is giving me feedback. Please keep the reviews coming! I'd like to know what you think of the plot, characters, etc. It makes my writing better, and, of course, I welcome the little reviews that simple state whether or not you like it.

As always, enjoy!

Chapter 7: A New Enemy

Another day and a half passed, and Claire and Wesker had a routine going. She slept, but with difficulty, and he worked. She sat in the corner, and read, daydreamed about escaping, or ate, and Wesker worked. Around noon, he took a break, despite not needing one, and they would talk. They also spoke sporadically throughout the day, but Claire almost always initiated it when she could no longer stand the boredom. There were times when his dark words troubled her, and times when she made a smart comment when he was not in the mood and earned her the threat of punishment or a hard hit. But there were also times she almost liked talking to him, almost.

She looked at him and saw blood on his hands. She saw Steve dying, and she saw her brother's enemy. It always kept her from being friendly, but they were okay with each other. With no outside world for context, Wesker did not always seem the monster, and the outside world, after a week of isolation, did seem distant. Claire was more cautious about what she said when he was talkative, because he seldom was, and she tried to glean any information that she could. When he looked at her, she still couldn't read his mood, and there was always a touch of fear that he might do something to her.

"Dear heart, gather your belongings. We're leaving," he announced later that morning. "Your dear brother is probably already at the airport, waiting for us." He had cleaned the lab and packed his notebooks and samples into a new briefcase.

"You won't kill him, will you? This is a fair exchange?" Claire questioned. Wesker sat beside her, a syringe in his hand that she eyed warily.

"He'll die." Claire's heart dropped. "But not today. It's a shame I could not have more time to use you against him, but there are more valuable things than personal revenge. I'm not finished with him," he said softly, almost like he was promising Claire. "And your part in this game isn't finished." Claire shuddered. "Now, you can either take the sedative or another knock to your head," he said, suddenly professional again. Claire sighed and rolled up the white sleeve. Wesker chuckled and stuck the needle into her arm. She flinched noticeably. She hated needles.

*****************

Claire stood beside Wesker, and the two waited for the signal for her release. She shifted anxiously while Wesker was ever cool. People bustled by them in ignorance of Claire's precarious situation, and Claire envied them. Wesker had told her point blank that, if Chris messed up, he would hurt her to send him a message. He had also insisted she change from lab scrubs. So now she was wearing a set of khaki trousers, a sea-green, wrap-around sweater, and black pumps. She didn't recognize the brand names, but she knew they were too expensive for her wallet. She insisted on wearing the backpack, even though it ruined the classy look. _Screw classy_, Claire thought. Wesker was trying to annoy her.

"Yes?" Wesker said as he answered his phone. "Meet me at the car." The phone shut. "Miss Redfield, our ways part here. Do give Chris my love." Claire felt a weight lift from her shoulders, but just then Wesker bent close to her ear. "But I will see you again soon." Claire frowned, but defiantly faced him.

"The bruises you gave me will remind me until then," she spat. Wesker moved even closer. "We'll stop you. We won't let you get away with your plans. If Chris doesn't kill you, I will."

"For Mr. Burnside?" Wesker mocked, moving his shades so she could see his eyes. She was scared, and extremely angry because of it.

"For everyone," she answered coldly. "I-"

"Hate me with a passion. Charming. Goodbye, dear heart." He disappeared into the crowd, and Claire moved to sit on her designated bench. Her heart pounded in her ears. He was going to come back for her. She wanted to scream, even feeling the sunlight on her face and knowing that no one was about to harm her. She breathed the air of freedom and could only picture Wesker walking to his car and smiling smugly over the terror he left in her mind. Her heart swelled with hate as she thought of his arrogance, his threats, his blatant treatment of her like an object, and the way he damaged her spirit and then acted like he could comfort her. Lies, her mind screamed.

"CLAIRE!" The voice made her jump out of her seat.

"Chris!" She saw him, running down the escalator toward her. He was still a distance away, but she leapt with joy and waved. She hadn't seen him in months, not since he left for Europe. "It's about time, you dolt," she said to herself as he kept approaching. He was talking into a walkie-talkie, probably telling the rest of the team that she was safe. A man moved up closer behind Claire, but she did not notice him in her excitement over her brother.

"Miss?" a voice gruffly asked. Claire, puzzled, turned to find a man in a long coat looking at her. He shifted his coat, and Claire saw a gun in his hands. "Come with us." Claire's energy flared to life.

"Like hell I will!" She lashed out quickly, kicking the man's gut and doubling him over. She kicked him in the face once he was down. _Wesker's going back on his word_, she thought darkly. She began running for Chris, who had seen the attack and was calling for backup. They were almost there when a man ran from the crowd and seized Claire about the waist. "Chris!" she screamed, desperate.

"Claire! Hold on!" The man lifted Claire and carried her away from her brother. A large baggage train blocked Chris' path, forcing him to climb over it amid yells from airport security. More men had appeared and bound and gagged Claire. Gunfire forced Chris to duck behind a counter. He peered around it and saw Claire's terrified eyes as sliding doors closed behind her retreating form. They screamed wordlessly for help and tore Chris's heart. "Claire!"

"Chris, we have to go!" Leon shouted as he ran up behind him. "Security will be here any second." Chris shrugged him off and lunged for the doors, but Leon grabbed his shoulder. "Chris, there's no time."

"Claire…" Chris muttered to himself as he followed Leon's lead. Claire had dropped her backpack in the rush, and he retrieved it. Had Wesker gone back on his promise? No. It was too sloppy for Wesker. He would have smoothly taken Claire from Chris again without causing a public spectacle. The question remained, who had Claire?

In the van, the team sat quietly. There were some eight people who worked in their small unit, but only Leon, Jill, and Rebecca had accompanied him on such a personal mission. The rest had kept working in France, but Chris didn't see how he could return to them, not with Claire missing somewhere in the states. He opened Claire's backpack and loving examined the contents.

He noticed a piece of folded paper tucked in with her pencils and retrieved it. Opening it, he found an interesting series of notes. Brazil was circled several times. There was also a name: _Nash is a thorn in Wesker's side_. Chris didn't recognize the name, but he put the note in his pocket, knowing it was important. He would speak to headquarters about taking leave to investigate this and find Claire.


	9. Chapter 9: Risky Business

Hello again. I'm updating like mad today; I know. I'm spoiling you guys, but don't expect this pace to continue unabated. I simply have a streak of free time, so I've been editing and posting what I already have done. Oh, and by the way, reviews encourage me to update faster. lol. Oh, I'm trying to make sure the plot is good and that the characters are true to their personalities as I edit!

Note: I realized that a small part of a previous chapter got lost somewhere. It was about the phone number thing, so, if it seems a bit random, it's because I quickly tried to explain it here instead of reediting something I already posted.

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Chapter 8: Risky Business

Claire could not see with the sack covering her head. She was only aware that she was in a van, moving fairly fast. She shifted her weight against the back of the van to get more comfortable and waited. This was not Wesker. This was not Wesker's style. The men in the backseat were even talking in hushed tones, as if she couldn't hear them.

"Nash wants to question her."

"For what?"

"She works for that Wesker guy, you know, the freak with the red eyes that he told us about?"

"Oh. Is she a scientist then?"

"Don't know. Looks like they were making a drop of some sort. She must be in an influential position. Our sources say she was at the lab we attacked. Her and Wesker left together." There were several mumbles she couldn't make out. If her mouth weren't stuffed with an irritating gag, she would have laughed at the mere suggestion that she worked for Wesker.

"Maybe she's influential for other reasons," one suggestively snickered. Claire felt a hand run up her thigh, and she squirmed away. More laughter followed.

"Then she likely knows even more. Men tell their whores the most remarkable things." The van stopped after several hours, and Claire was hauled outside. She wasn't sure where she was going, but she was moved onto what she was sure was a plane. She hated not being able to see, but she learned a lot through eavesdropping. Nash was a former Umbrella employee who felt that the company had cheated him out of his rightful dues. Now he worked against Umbrella, but Claire could not figure out who his current employer was. There were also references to Wesker and the "Agency", and again Claire was left in the dark. Who exactly did Wesker work for? She had a hard time picturing Wesker being someone's lackey. Then again, once a traitor, always a traitor. Maybe he was playing this new agency like he had Umbrella.

Claire was freed from her mask and restraints, dragged to a dark cell, and thrown inside. There wasn't even a bed, and it was damp. She curled into a ball in the corner and shook from the cold. She heard voices outside, talking about the new prisoner with the nice legs. She frowned into her arms, and, as sick as it was, she compared her treatment here to treatment by Wesker. He would never have put her in a room like this. _Because he didn't need to in order to keep you in check_, a voice whispered. _True_, she decided. She was frightened now, but these men scared her in a way entirely different from Wesker. Unlike her former captor, they would die if she got her hands on a gun. They couldn't cow her into inaction.

Three days passed, and, once a day, someone came to empty the bucket that was her toilet. Several granola bars and a jug of water usually followed that. On the second day, she had tried to sneak the gun from a guard in the process of grabbing her bucket, but he had seen it coming. So now she had a large bruise on her abdomen and a broken finger. Was it possible for life to get any worse? She swore that she'd trade Wesker for this any day.

She was eventually taken from her cell and forced into a chair. She was in what looked like an average interrogation room. The man who entered was older, with dark brown hair that was graying at the temples and a thick moustache. A curious star-shaped scar graced his left cheek, and Claire could tell from the way he held himself that he was going to be tough on her. She instinctively disliked him by the predatory gaze he gave her. It wasn't sexual, but definitely disconcerting.

"I was hoping to grab Wesker, but you will do," he stated, making her sound like a second-rate product.

"You think I work for a man named Wesker?" she asked. She had no idea what the rules for this game were. If they hated Wesker, which it seemed they did, then would working for him be her doom or prolong her life for information? More importantly, would not working for him instantly get her killed because she'd be disposable? This was a former Umbrella agent, after all. _The enemy of my enemy is my friend_, she thought. But these guys sure has hell didn't feel like friends.

"Don't play games," the man ordered sharply. "Do you know who I am?"

"Nash?" she guessed, keeping herself steady.

"Correct. You will answer my questions, and, maybe, if you can make yourself useful, we won't kill you too slowly." Claire only blinked. "Your name?"

"Jennifer Fielding."

"You are a scientist or something else?" Claire's mind moved quickly.

"I specialize in acquiring information, for a price." Nash was examining her expression carefully, but Claire only leaned back in her chair, crossed her legs, and folded her arms over her lap.

"Another superfluous spy," Nash snorted, but he looked interested. "What were you doing at the airport?"

"I was on my way to France to deal with anti-Umbrella forces."

"I don't believe you." Claire swallowed hard. "You see, I have a knack for ferreting out lies, and you reek of them. Perhaps a message is important." He went for the door, but Claire stopped him.

"Fine. I work for the Agency. They don't trust Wesker, so they keep tabs on him." It was partly true, and she managed to say it with a conviction that sprouted from her desire to save her own skin. "I was going to Paris to report under the pretense of spying on anti-Umbrella units for Wesker. After the last lab got blown up, he's a little worried about the smaller groups nipping at his heels. And, he's expecting a call from me within the next day or so, or he'll know something's wrong. If you hope to be able to use me, you'll get me that phone." She stared Nash hard in the face, and, when he smiled, she felt both a sense of relief and pride.

"You're willing to help us out a little?"

"I'm willing to barter for my life, sir. Wesker pays well, but others have deeper pockets, and I know it." Nash was giving her that odd stare again.

"Very well, Fielding. You'll have your phone call." Claire tensed as she waited for him to return. He did, with a cell phone connected to a larger speaker. "It won't be private, of course." Claire nodded and dialed Chris. She prayed this would work.

"Hello, this is Agent Fielding," she stated. "Connect me to Wesker." She knew Chris had one of the numbers from listening to him and Wesker bargaining. It had been given for the airport exchange, and Claire only hoped Wesker had not changed the number.

"Claire, is that you?" Chris asked desperately.

"Damn it, Smith, you know it's me. I don't need to do the test. Connect me to Wesker. Now." Chris seemed to take the hint that something important hinged on this. The phone went silent a moment, and then there were more rings.

"Yes?" Wesker's voice cut sharply across the line. Nash seemed to tense at the sound of his voice, and Claire felt an odd mixture of relief and hope.

"Wesker, sir, it's agent Fielding. The job's underway. No news from Redfield yet. He failed to come through, and Claire is MIA. As for N, he'll be close to me if you need him." There was a pause. Claire was sure that he had to recognize her voice; however, she didn't know what Wesker could do to help, and she doubted he would if he could. But for the moment, she was still alive. Her hope was that he would come for her out of self-interest when he realized something was wrong. As long as he understood who N was…Time stretched on. "Sir?"

"Agent Fielding, know your place," Wesker barked. Claire didn't need to fake tensing; it came naturally, but she figured it added to the show. "I heard you. Continue with your work, and don't interrupt me again until you have worthwhile information."

"Yes, sir." She closed the phone.

"The pause was clever," Nash said with cold calculation. "But Wesker would need satellite technology that doesn't exist to track this phone." Claire swallowed her emotional response. "We'll discuss business tomorrow."

****************

Wesker's computer screen flashed numbers at him. His position offered him a range of tools that the world had yet to see, and he used it now. Claire's message was beyond unexpected, but Wesker prided himself on quick recoveries. He had read between her lines easily, and he intended to find out exactly what was going on.

Somewhere in space, a satellite spun and crunched information. Wesker waited and tapped the desk softly and rhythmically to occupy himself. He was a patient man when it came to his plans. It had taken years to get where he was.

Destination found. The screen zoomed onto a common looking apartment complex outside of Baltimore, Maryland. His calculating mind went to work. _Why did you call me, Miss Redfield? _The more he considered it, the more he suspected he had fallen into a very nice position. N. He smiled and picked up the phone. Claire Redfield was much more useful than her brother.


	10. Chapter 10: Rescued?

Hey everyone! I opened up my settings so that more people can review. I crave reviews like chocolate!

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Chapter 9: Rescued?

The door to the Claire's cell opened and a tall man in a tank top and jeans stepped inside. Claire resisted the urge to spit on him, and it was a rather strong urge at that; however, she had done that once already, and it had only resulted in the guard spitting into her water bottle. She hated the sidelong glances he gave her, and she spent most of her free time contemplating how best to attack him. She was sure she could handle him given the right opportunity; she wasn't a weakling, and she was resolved to act as soon as possible. Given a choice between Wesker's benevolence and her own wits, she'd choose her wits any day.

"Bathroom break, love—for being a good girl." Nash had given her a few privileges since her offer to help them, but she was hardly thrilled. She stood and followed the guard to the restroom in what she thought looked more like an empty building temporarily fixed as HQ. He shoved her into the small room and stepped inside with her. There was no stall, only an off-white toilet and sink. "Make it quick."

"How about some privacy?" she snapped. The man merely laughed.

"Get to it or you can wet your pants." Claire lowered her slacks and sat on the toilet, which unfortunately put her in the position of facing the man. He leered at her the entire time, and she glared daggers. She stood and pulled her pants up. When she turned around from flushing, he was much too close for comfort. He grabbed her waist and bent her over the sink while he fumbled with her pants. Her body automatically reacted. She rocketed her head backward into his face, and his nose cracked loudly. "Bitch!"

He staggered backward and Claire took the chance to wrest the gun from his exposed hip holster. He lunged, but it was too late for him. Claire unloaded the magazine into his chest and watched his bloody body fall to the ground. Crimson seeped across the white tiles and filled in the square recesses. Claire quickly jumped over the mess in her pumps and sprinted. She would have given anything for sneakers.

"What was that? Mike?" someone yelled as she exited the bathroom. Great, the entire place probably heard the gunshots. She ran for a window and crawled out onto the fire escape. Her heels kept getting stuck in the grating, so she removed them and unlatched the ladder. More gunshots fired from inside as she scrambled down the rungs and jumped the last few feet to the ground. Her feet stung and guns blared. She was amazed to realize that they weren't shooting at her.

"Opportunity knocks," she smiled, running across the street and into an alley. She hopped over a broken bottle and crouched behind a dumpster. She'd clear the path behind her and then find the nearest phone. It was a simple plan, a good plan. Yet no one was chasing her, and so a suspicious chill tickled her spine.

Peeking around the dumpster, she saw someone exiting the building, a shotgun in hand. Claire aimed and fired. His body fell to the ground, and Claire waited for the next person. If the coast were clear, she would make a run for it. Then a person in black detached himself from the doorway. The blond man looked at the fallen body, then toward the alley. "Wesker," Claire said, relieved it wasn't another of Nash's thugs. Wait. Relieved? The emotion vanished as Wesker began walking in her direction, and her grip on the gun tightened. She'd never get away unless she slowed him down…

She jumped out from behind the dumpster and aimed a shot at his head. _He came_, her mind whispered. Her trigger finger faltered. The gun tilted and fired into his shoulder instead. Wesker yelled, and Claire ran as fast as her legs would go. Her body was tired from deprivation and dehydration, but panic was a powerful motivator. She managed to make it to the end of the alley and around the corner before Wesker caught her.

"I wasn't expecting a warm welcome, Miss Redfield," he glowered. "But that was very ungrateful." He twirled her around, and Claire saw a mere patch of blood on his shirt. "You only grazed it, or I might not be so forgiving." _The wound's already healed_, Claire realized in astonishment. She had never before seen how fast his body healed.

"You would have left me to rot if it weren't for Nash. Let go!" Claire hollered. "I'm not going back with you!" Wesker grinned into her hair as he pulled her toward his car. The documents he had found in the building had him in a very good mood. The US government should have been more discerning in what they kept hard copies of and whom they distributed them to.

"You called me," he stressed as Claire continued to struggle. He squeezed until she stopped squirming. "Remember our first car ride, dear heart? Unless you'd like a headache, quietly sit and buckle yourself in." Claire seethed but let him somewhat toss her into the passenger's seat. The door instantly locked, and Wesker climbed in on the other side. Claire realized she was still holding the pumps and dropped them onto the floor while throwing her head back into the cushioned seat. "Are you injured?" Wesker asked as he started the car.

"Only my dignity, and my finger."

"The mess in the upstairs bathroom?" he guessed, giving her a long look. Claire shrugged and Wesker focused on the road.

"Why aren't I unconscious?"

"Because I didn't hit you." Claire shifted in her seat, annoyed and worried. "Dear heart, don't stress. You did, after all, ask for my help, and I came. You have more than made up for stealing the sample with saved time. Nash's days are numbered."

"I don't care," Claire stated. "If you're so grateful, let me go."

"I'm afraid not. I upheld my end of the deal. It's Chris's loss that he couldn't protect you. He seems to lack in that department." Claire wanted to slap him for insulting her brother like that. _Chris is very good at protecting people,_ she told herself. She saw Chris running toward her in the airport, calling her name and smiling. She hadn't been that happy in what felt like forever. Her throat tightened and she cringed. Tears fell from her face, but she didn't make a sound. She didn't want Wesker's attention or for him to think her weak. She just silently cried, and Wesker didn't say a word.

"We were so close," she whispered into the window. She had been full of escape hopes under Nash's watch, and she had planned rather than dwell on her losses at the airport. There hadn't been time, but now… It began to rain, and she listened to the drops hitting the roof and windows until her eyelids drooped. Her grief exhausted her, and Wesker was lost in his own thoughts, probably deciding what to do with her. She didn't want to know what he was plotting, and so she slept for several hours until the sound of thunder wakened her. She sat up lazily in her seat and saw that Wesker seemed to have barely moved a muscle.

"Can we get some food?" she asked.

"Any preference?" Wesker asked, a slight smile about his lips.

"You're seriously giving me an option?" He gave her a cold glance.

"I can take it back, if you'd prefer."

"No, um, thanks," she said with an edge of viciousness. "I'd like something without grease. I've been living on vending machine food and junk for too long." Wesker barely nodded and Claire fell asleep again. When she woke up, the car was parked in a lot and Wesker was missing. She immediately tried the door handle, and, in opening it, let rain soak half of her leg. She slammed the door shut almost immediately. Where was she going to go in a strange place, exhausted, without money, and with Wesker searching for her? Despair gripped her, and she stewed in her misery until Wesker returned several minutes later. He passed her a cardboard box, and she opened it to a beautiful and expensive looking plate of fish, vegetables, and rice. The smell alone made her mouth water. "Thanks," she said, and meant it. It looked and tasted exquisite.

"Consider it reward for your service," Wesker mocked.

"Please, please don't ruin this for me," Claire mumbled. The food's pleasure had already somewhat dampened. "I did not intentionally help you. It was survival." Wesker settled into his seat and watched her scarf the food down.

"Things were much quieter without you, Miss Redfield." He had noticed the silence after her departure. On the second day she was gone, he had unexpectedly thought to go harass her while waiting for a file to transfer only to remember that she was not there. She held ideas and put her emotions on display in a manner he did not personally experience or sympathize with but understood from observing others. He could use them to his advantage, he knew, or at least as a brief distraction. Claire always had something to say about everything, and, unlike others, she was willing to say it to his face.

"It'll stay quiet if you let me go," Claire tried. Wesker gave her the look that told her to shut her mouth. "I just want my life back. You can't pay me to cooperate in dinners."

"You only say that because you don't know what it's like to starve. I could arrange for you to take that comment back, Miss Redfield. It would be too easy." He grabbed the box and took it, closing and setting it on his lap. Claire wanted to scream at him like an angry child. It was painful not to surrender and beg him.

"I should have killed you when I had the chance," she spat, looking out the window. "I take back the shred of humanity I credited you with." Wesker turned her chin toward him, and both of their eyes blazed with fire as they met.

"You knew I didn't come for your sake. Don't act like I betrayed you. As for shooting me, bullets can't kill me." He peered more intently at her. "But it was very foolish of you to spare my life, as you thought you were doing. Why would you hesitate, Claire?" Claire's fire abated and she closed her eyes and leaned into the leather.

"I thought I saw something in you that obviously wasn't there. Can we at least let Chris know I'm all right? He has no idea what happened to me."

"He'll know soon enough," Wesker stated flatly.

"Bastard."

"You're lucky I'm in such a generous mood, dear heart. Never forget your limits. It keeps you alive." Claire tried to ignore the smell of the food as Wesker started the car. He would swat her hand away if she reached for it, even though it was so close on the dashboard. "And I did not say that I minded my quiet interrupted." He left Claire to ponder that while they again hit the highway. She did, consequently, relent and ask for the food, but she did not feel angry so much as numb.


	11. Chapter 11: Arrangements

Chapter 10: Arrangements

"Nash was listed as a wanted Umbrella man for six months after the Raccoon City incident," Rebecca said, staring at her computer screen. "But then his name suddenly drops from the record without an explanation."

"He might be going after Wesker," Leon reasoned. The tyrant's name coolly but cautiously fell from his lips. No one was anxious to mention Claire, and the name inevitably called her to mind. "After all, Wesker is trying to rebirth Umbrella and lead it, and he seems to want to take the company further than just supplying bio-weapons. If this Nash guy was involved, maybe he wants a piece of the action. Then again, the government was pretty eager to get their hands on anyone with knowledge after Raccoon. Maybe Nash switched sides." Leon recalled his own experience with US operatives, and he knew too well that they pragmatically employed shady individuals as long as they were skilled.

"Makes sense," Jill agreed. "And what about Brazil? Is there a plant in Brazil that we don't know about?"

"I think so," Chris answered. "But who knows whose lab it is? Wesker's playing multiple sides. Maybe it's S Agency; maybe it's a new player. Either way, it's probably his or treated like his when it comes down to it. I say we investigate it. It might lead to Wesker, at least."

"Chris, he doesn't have Claire," Jill cautioned.

"I know," Chris replied. "But Wesker is the one pulling the strings behind these biological outbreaks. He should be our main target." He scratched his head and lowered it toward the ground in frustration. "Damn it. If not him, who'd have taken Claire?" He was trying to keep her absence from affecting his work, but it wasn't easy. His frustrations were increasingly being piled onto Wesker for having taken her in the first place. There was also the issue of dealing with the partial blame he felt for losing her, but simply not knowing what had happened proved to be the most troubling concern.

Every spare minute that the team had was spent fishing for information, but there was simply none to be found, and work could not stop indefinitely because of it, not when so many other lives were on the line. Jill knew Chris was doing his best to keep a strong front and lead. She absolutely commended him for it.

"She's been seen with Wesker," Leon pointed out. "People might get the wrong impression. She didn't exactly look like a captive at the airport." The group turned to one another, and Rebecca's face grew animated with hope; however, it fell flat as Chris fingered his knife.

"Becky, Wesker's enemies aren't our friends. Most of them are people just like him." The younger woman sadly sighed.

"I'll see if my old government contacts know anything about other people who are after Wesker," Leon promised. "Some of them owe me a favor." The team settled business for the time and began working on the Brazil question. They hadn't made any progress in almost a week. Chris thought that life couldn't get more upsetting, but then a package arrived for him. Inside was Claire's bloody, pink jacket.

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Claire counted her days of captivity. 17. Damn. Shit. She wanted to shoot something. Even feeling a gun in her hand would have brought comfort. She had been in the new facility for four days now, and Wesker was almost always busy, as usual. She had her own bedroom this time—a real bedroom, with a dresser and queen-sized bed that even had a canopy. There were other rooms, but Wesker sat at a desk just outside the bedroom, working or pacing in thought. At that moment, he stepped inside to bring her lunch. It was customary to exchange a few words.

"Wesker, don't you think you've left Chris in limbo long enough?"

"Not quite, but we'll progress to the next stage soon." He always made it sound like a matter of business, and the confident, sometimes darkly sarcastic edge to his words never helped. Claire sighed and flopped down at her desk to eat. "How would you rate his anxiety after several days? Still high, I suspect."

"How the hell can you ask that? You think it will disappear if you let it go too long?" Wesker cocked his head, encouraging an explanation. "Wesker," she sighed, "He's my brother. We've been together forever. You can't spend all that time with someone, sharing secrets and climbing trees, looking after each other, and just forget it in several days. I mean," she seemed frustrated by his neutral face. "How would you react to having your sibling held hostage by someone?"

"My family is deceased," he casually informed. Claire faltered.

"Oh. Sorry." Pause. "I guess I expected that." Wesker was waiting for her again. "Well, you're always alone, and I don't hear you taking personal calls." The thought of someone calling and asking Wesker how his week had gone blew her mind. "It's sort of obvious that you don't have anyone." Wesker smirked.

"You say that with such distaste," he commented.

"For me, it is, but I guess you're okay with it. After all, having someone would entail caring about them," she scoffed. "You're not going to hit me if I tell you what I honestly think, will you?" She watched him solemnly nod and then carefully proceeded. "I can't imagine being alone. I've never every really been alone either, not with Chris. I could be offered everything in the world, and it wouldn't mean a damn thing if there was no one to trust and joke around with at the end of day. I think…I think you're a fool for sacrificing that to your ambition."

"You are entitled to your opinions, dear heart, as simpering as they are." Claire took a bite out of her sandwich and averted her eyes. Wesker was watching. "There are fresh clothes in the dresser." He left to return to his work while Claire fiddled with her own devices. She waited until evening to venture out of her room, and only after she had resisted the urge for several hours. The familiarity of her surroundings was simply suffocating her.

In the next room, the lights were off and Wesker's desk was empty. Claire moved forward into the darkness with only the light peeking around her half-closed door as a guide. It took her some time to realize that Wesker was lying on the couch, sunglasses gone and eyes closed. Her curiosity got the better of her, and she crept over to him. Apparently he did sleep once and a while.

"He looks so normal," she commented in a barely audible tone. He looked like any guy taking a nap. His chest rose and fell gently, and his lips were slightly parted. Claire couldn't help but watch, as if she were seeing something she might never see again. This was a Wesker she didn't have to fear. He was peaceful and not scheming or trying to humiliate her. The thought was somehow comforting. She didn't move for several minutes, and, when she did, it was toward his desk. Maybe she could find some useful information.

Her hand moved several papers aside. They were test results, she realized. The data meant little to her, but she was interested to see that Wesker's name was listed as the test subject. Was he running tests on himself? Claire was repulsed and went to restack the papers when a hand clamped down over hers. She froze, terrified as Wesker's lips neared her ears.

"What do you think, you're doing?" Claire could not move her hand from beneath his, and she found her voice had abandoned her. "I asked you a question, Miss Redfield."

"I was looking around," she said nervously. Having Wesker's presence so close to her back made her squirm. "Just curious." The pressure on her fingers increased painfully.

"You are a slow learner," Wesker mocked. "Apparently past pain does not dissuade you from challenging me." Claire said nothing. The steel in his voice was too dangerous. "There are no points for effort in this game. If you sit back and wait for Chris to come, you'll be back to reciting literature without a scratch."

"I can't do that," she managed to squeak. "I won't be hit back and forth between you two like a ball." She was surprised when Wesker released her hand and pushed her toward her room.

"Inside." She scurried to do as told. Entering the room, she froze as Wesker trailed in behind her. He tossed his shirt on her desk, exposing his bare chest. Her body tensed, and her palms became sweaty as he removed his boots. "Miss Redfield, I am not going to take advantage of you, so stop looking like you're going to faint." Claire cast him a doubting stare as she backed toward the other side of the room. "My mind needs rest after so many days of constant work, and this is my building, so I will sleep where I like." He flicked the lights off.

"I'll leave you to it then," Claire trembled, heading for the door. It was locked.

"Unfortunately, you can't be trusted," Wesker smirked as he slid into the bed. He closed his eyes and listened to her move about in the dark. He had intended to rest for but a moment on the couch while he gathered his thoughts; but he had apparently expended himself in testing more than his body could handle without some form of compensation. And he wasn't about to follow Claire's preferences when she was annoying him. "Dear heart, you are being unreasonable," he stated as he heard her try the door again. "I already gave you my word that your virtue is safe with me."

Claire sighed and slowly moved toward the bed. She reasoned that she would gain nothing from sleeping on the floor except a sore back. Wesker smirked in the darkness as she too slid under the covers. She could see his outline in the dark, and she held her breath and counted as she tried to calm herself. "I kick, so don't hurt me. I can't control it," she warned. The nightmares came frequently since entering Umbrella's world, and, from what Jill had said, it was fairly common for all of the survivors. Claire pulled the blankets close about her chin.

She slowly fell asleep. Sometimes she tossed or turned, and her skin would brush Wesker's. She did not realize that her head, at one point, rested against his shoulder. It had awoken him, as her every movement did, but he did disturb her. She needed the sleep as much as he did. He knew that she worked excessively to keep her body ready for combat, and she cried sometimes, exhausting herself further. His night vision was improved from his human years, and he examined her sometimes peaceful, sometimes torrent features.

Her continued defiance could not be allowed to go unchecked; he didn't allow anyone to get away with that. If there was one thing he hated more than anything else, it was having his authority questioned. The trait had even shown through while in Stars when he made his team run laps for the slightest infringements. Others had not gotten off nearly so easily. But, he had to admit, Claire's spunk made things more interesting. Yes, if Claire had been the perfect, submissive captive, she would have earned his contempt and easy dismissal. But standing up to a man who could break her? Idiotic, but brave, very similar to Chris.

However, unlike Chris, she exposed a softer side at times that someone like Ada Wong would have died to hide. Yet Claire did not seem to mind; she turned those emotions into a spirited resistance. That spirit coupled with her spur of the moment abilities, as he had witnessed while she was in Nash's hands, were complimentary. Wesker saw her potential to be a more formidable foe than her brother, and he suspected he would eventually kill her one-day when she followed Chris's footsteps. Such a waste. She jerked her head to the side and back into his shoulder, where she buried her face. Miss Redfield was a very interesting person indeed.


	12. Chapter 12: Scars

Thanks for keeping the reviews coming. I've been putting a lot of time into editing. I hope you enjoy the psychological tidbits in this chapter. I'm really trying to properly portray character decisions, actions, and thoughts. That's difficult for Wesker at times, so I hope I'm coming close to your expectations.

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Chapter 11: Scars

The next day, Claire awoke in the characteristically groggy manner that always made Chris laugh. She'd been running through Raccoon in her dreams again, but she still felt surprisingly refreshed. Suddenly she jerked into a sitting position as she realized that Wesker was sitting at her desk, dressed, and holding a phone.

"Ah, sleepy beauty has finally decided to join us," he jested. He turned the phone into his shoulder. Noise was screaming out of it. "Miss Redfield, your brother and I are negotiating your return. Would you care to say hello?" Claire sprang from the bed and almost fell into Wesker's lap in the frantic process, which only furthered his amusement. He handed her the phone.

"Chris?"

"Claire, did that sick monster touch you? He was talking about how you sleep, and…and I have your jacket here. Shit Claire, I thought you were dead."

"I'm fine. But you're not going to be if you go through with this." Wesker held out his hand. "Hang onto my jacket, Chris," she ordered as she bore her eyes into Wesker's shades. "I'll be needing it again." Wesker threateningly shifted forward, and Claire reluctantly handed the phone back before he touched her.

"See Chris, I have been a perfect gentleman. I even let her choose which side of the bed she wanted." Claire balled her fists and struggled to keep herself under control. "Hmmm. Colorful. No, I'm afraid not. I don't see how I can morally return her to someone who so carelessly loses her. Suffice it to say that I shall be in contact with you." He closed the phone and tucked it into his shirt pocket. "Don't give me that look, Miss Redfield. You'll be returning to your brother as soon as my work here is finished." Anger pinched Claire's senses as she watched the smooth, patient man before her. He was so impeccably neat and assured that it was maddening.

"You mailed him my jacket, didn't you? You're a disgusting, soulless freak! How can you do that to someone?" She never finished her remaining thoughts, for Wesker had lifted her against the wall by the throat. Thinking better of it, he threw her across the room, where she hit the wall and sat up to lean against it. "You'll kill him," she said, squeezing shut watering eyes.

"I'll remove a nuisance," Wesker grimly stated while crouching in front of her. Claire's tears dried under his scrutiny.

"And what will you do with me?"

"That depends on you," Wesker assured and ran a hand over her cheeks to wipe away the few escaped tears. "You may force me to kill you by interfering too much, or you may return to a normal life."

"But without Chris, that's not really a choice, Wesker."

"Only if you see it that way. One death is a small thing to the world, and survival is a very strong incentive, after all. Will Chris even let you join the team once you're rescued? It might be straight back to the scenery for you even if Redfield luck somehow miraculously saves his life." Claire grimaced at the suggestion.

"I'll join your enemy's ranks either way; I promise you that," Claire swelled. Wesker wrapped fingers around her throat but not dangerously so.

"Then I should save myself some trouble now," he coldly contemplated. Claire glared. If she were going to die, begging would not be her last, earthly action.

"Go ahead." Wesker's face blanked in thought. "Is there any way for me to change your mind? To save Chris? I'd be willing to do anything." Wesker cocked his head slightly to the side.

"Anything is a dangerous agreement, Miss Redfield."

"I'll…I'll even be a lab rat if it means saving him," she ground out, but not without trepidation that he'd take her up on the offer. He gave her face one last stroke before standing and moving to the door.

"I'll consider whether there is not some way for you to be useful, Miss Redfield, but this is a deadly game you're playing. Being a hostage is far easier than becoming a player." And he left while digesting her devotion to her sibling. Such loyalty was rare, and it struck a man who trusted no one as a very risky and nonsensical attachment. He recalled some of his former Umbrella colleagues and how quickly the weaker ones had been weeded out. Those fools who trusted fellow researchers got stabbed in the back once their contributions were over, and he suspected that some researchers had selected underlings for that purpose. Disposable.

Meanwhile, Claire lay on her bed in thought. There was at least hope now—hope for Chris. She had meant every ounce of what she had said too, even if she feared the consequences. She wondered if fear would make her die in a pathetic manner when the time came, because, as much as she hated his ideas, Wesker was right when he said self-preservation was a powerful force.

She went to the bathroom, removed her shirt, and tossed it to the floor. A small collection of scars dotted her body. She could still remember where she had gotten each of them. The one on her collarbone was from slipping while rock climbing in high school. The jagged one on her elbow came from falling off of her bike even earlier. The thin one across her abdomen…she sighed. That was from Alexia's attack and a wound she received while fighting alongside Steve. Likewise, the barely visible one under her left breast came from fighting lickers.

She had long known she would never escape the horrors Umbrella had brought into her life. What she had learned since fighting for her life against monsters was unpleasant, even more so than the abuse she had seen her adoptive relatives inflict as a child. She still vividly recalled her aunt, who punished her by making her eat spoonfuls of paprika. Chris had always comforted her as children, but now…she frowned. Now she had Wesker, who could crush her with a single punch. _His false sympathy is part of his game,_ Claire told herself, _but then how does it feel so genuine at times_? Part of her believed that it was possible Wesker had some compassion somewhere.

"Like hell he does," Claire stated as she stepped into the shower. "Buried so deep no one will ever see it again." She recalled everything nice or considerate that he had done for her and found a double motive. Still, there was always a chance. The boxed dinner had perhaps been a rare show of kindness, and he did provide her with books and other things to keep her busy at times.

"Men of stone," she recited. She recalled his warm touches on her face when she felt like cracking. She did not understand her captor, and she doubted whether anyone did. She again felt that pang of sadness that sometimes connected with Wesker's image. He sat in the other room and typed. If she weren't here, he would not take a break to talk and do something besides plan and work. _What an existence_, she thought. He could not possibly be happy, but she hardly thought that he deserved to be.

***************

"None of my contacts were very helpful," Leon announced. "But the government does have an operative team working on tracking Umbrella shipments, and I've got contact information that might be useful. They've tracked down and infiltrated two labs already, but they're having problems keeping out of dangerous hands now that they're on the radar. Perhaps we could team up at some point."

"The more the merrier," Rebecca offered.

"Yeah," Jill agreed, "but I don't want to get sucked into government agendas. Leon, you said these guys want samples and not to destroy the viruses like us."

"Exactly. No use pushing it," Chris warned. "We don't know them or who we can trust. I say we tell them as little as possible. If we work together, it's on single missions only. Any thoughts?" Again, the group came to a quick consensus. "What about this Brazilian lab?"

"I'm not finding any traces," Rebecca admitted. She was a technical genius, but she had been hard pressed to find electronic evidence of such a lab. "Whoever owns it is keeping it well covered with some legitimate business front."

"Wesker…" Chris thought aloud.

"He's behind more than even Umbrella knew or knows," Jill added, resting a hand on Chris's shoulder. He smiled at her. Work and relationships had become much easier with Claire's intended arrival being scheduled for the following week. Chris had been daydreaming of planting a bullet between Wesker's eyebrows since it had been arranged. Now they were on a train, heading for Romania, where the exchange was to take place. Eased tensions even allowed the group to joke about bio experiments again.

"I've been thinking," Chris began. "What about letting Claire join the team if she wants? She may get in trouble, but she's capable. I think she'd be able to lend a hand. She did tip us off about Brazil." Jill smiled reassuringly.

"The girls will outnumber the boys," Rebecca joked. Leon nodded his consent, having always been fond of Claire—not that Chris liked it. The meeting adjourned, and Chris and Jill found themselves sitting together and looking out the window. She leaned against his shoulder and wrapped an arm around him.

"That took a lot, I know," she told him. He shrugged.

"I can't treat her like a kid after everything she's endured. Hell, I don't think I'd hold up in Wesker's hands as well as her," he lightly laughed, but his mood quickly soured. "He better not have touched her in any way. It's bad enough what he did to his teammates." He squeezed Jill's hand.

"Chris, why does Wesker hate you so much? We were all part of the mansion incident, but he targets you."

"I honestly don't know, Jill. When we were in the office, I felt like he thought I had potential. He told me that once, but he never seemed to like me."

"He didn't like anyone," Jill reasoned. "He's Wesker." Chris smiled forlornly.

"Yeah. I thought about that when he started taunting me with Claire. He seemed to hate me more on Antarctica. I like to think it's because I keep kicking his ass." Jill stifled a short giggle. "I wanted to introduce Claire to him once, you know. I wanted her to meet the guy I always bragged about being my boss. I even told Wesker I was going to bring her by the office. It was after Thanksgiving, when I put that photo on my desk."

"The photo-shopped one?" Jill asked. She could still picture it. It had been a large, framed photo of Chris and Claire scrunched together and smiling. Claire had inserted text above Chris's head that dubbed him a loser while text over her head read, "Perfection."

"That's the one. And you know what Wesker said?" Chris shook his head. "He wanted to know why I was displaying my attractive sister's picture to a department full of single men. It was one of those rare times he felt like one of the guys. I thought it was funny then…"

"Promise me you won't be foolish with Wesker," Jill insisted. "You can't kill him, not yet. We don't know how, so don't push that Redfield luck of yours." Chris stared out the window. "Chris? Chris…?"


	13. Chapter 13: Getting to Know You

Time for more conversational fun with our two favorite people! Dialogue is one of my favorite things to write, especially when sarcasm is involved. Also, thanks to the reviewers. I'm glad so many of you are anxious to read updates.

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Chapter 12: Getting to Know You

Two more days went by and Claire quietly opened her bedroom door. Wesker sat with his back to her as she walked toward the couch. She wondered if he could hear her. It was always hard to tell with him, because his body language was so subtle and trained. Still, she kept as quiet as possible as she seated herself and began idly doodling on a notepad that Wesker had given her. He claimed that she was less annoying when she had something to do. _How sweet_, Claire frowned.

She was trying to make a caricature of Leon, but she couldn't get his hair right. She had never been able to do realistic drawings, but she could do simple cartoons. The skill had developed during boring lectures in school, but she usually only used it to punctuate letters to Chris with humor. _Stupid hair_. She began clicking her pen in thought. She had no idea how long it lasted before Wesker spoke.

"Miss Redfield, that is a most grating habit," he coldly declared. Birkin used to do the same thing when they worked in lab together, and Wesker had always disliked it. Claire stopped clicking the pen before her brain had even registered that Wesker was talking. "And I assure you that sitting out here will not offer you any information for your friends."

"I know." But she was hoping otherwise. "I just wanted to sit here." Wesker doubted that as Claire returned to her doodle.

"Dear heart, don't beat around the proverbial bush. What is it you want?" Claire fingered the last four blank pages of her notepad.

"Isn't there anything else to do around here? I'm almost out of paper." Wesker spun in his seat and rested his head in his hand. Claire unwaveringly stared right back at him.

"I would be a terrible host indeed if I let my guest waste away," he mocked. Claire could almost hear the cogs turning inside his head. "Would you care to help me with a small test?" Claire's face darkened in disgust, and Wesker remained blank. "No? That's too bad." He turned back around. He did need to go to the surface tomorrow, so perhaps it would be to his benefit to find something to keep Claire's mind occupied.

************

Claire sat with a book that Wesker had provided propped on her knees. It felt good to at least have another person present in the drab building as she sat on the couch. She also found Wesker's choice of books satisfying. He had given her a collection of Shakespeare, since he knew she liked it. She pretended to make notes in the margins, but she was actually writing ideas and observations to pass the time. Sometimes she mumbled to herself in recitation.

Today, they sat quietly again, but Wesker seemed more restless than usual.

"Is work giving you problems?" Claire boldly asked. _I hope it's anti-Umbrella_, she thought, but she kept the comment to herself. Civility was working well, and she didn't want to be humiliated, which is what happened to her every single time she challenged him, much to her aggravation.

"And what makes you think that?" Wesker asked without turning toward her. He prided himself on remaining unreadable, and he had thought that he appeared as calm as ever today. Truth was, he was not getting the results he wanted with the samples he was working on.

"You're drumming your fingers more than usual." Wesker paused. His fingers were barely tapping the desk.

"You are more observant than I gave you credit for before, Miss Redfield. My first impression of you on Rockfort was quite premature." Claire snorted. "Indeed, work has hit a snag, and I am trying to concentrate." The threatening undertone thrown her way made Claire return to her book.

"I thought you didn't mind your quiet interrupted," she muttered to herself, but Wesker had caught it. He had to return to the lab, but it could wait. Claire registered his movement toward her but pretended not to notice. His staring unnerved her.

"Why are you reading out here, dear heart? Hostages often despair and resign themselves to their fate after some time. You've been here long enough for that to happen, but I find it hard to believe the Redfield fire has been snuffed out." He gave her the barest of mocking smiles. "Or did I overestimate your willpower?"

"Hand me a knife and find out how resigned I am," Claire dryly suggested, briefly glancing at him. He was still smiling.

"You are ever endearing, dear heart." Claire sighed.

"I don't understand you at all, Wesker," she said with frustration. "Now, you're fine with my sarcasm, but another time it might get me beaten. One moment you're a monster and the next you're almost…human. Comforting then violent, conversational then hard stone…everything is cloaked and, and…" She sealed her mouth and watched him watching her.

"Dear heart, I don't expend energy on hurting something unless I feel it necessary. You are not Chris, and I won't go out of my way to torture you."

"There you go again," Claire frowned. "You're reassuring me when we both know you don't give a damn. God! You always have your own reasons for everything, don't you? They say you play everyone off of each other. What exactly is the end goal, Wesker? Is there a bottom line buried somewhere in this jumbled mess of activities?" Wesker stood and began pacing slowly, hands folded behind him.

"You seem smart, Miss Redfield. Figure it out." He was right. Claire already knew he liked power, so that was probably what he was after. As for a bottom line, of course there was. He didn't act without purpose, or so it seemed. He gave her a vague, hidden smile before heading for a door she had yet to enter. Left alone, she waited several minutes and tried to read to no avail. She checked his desk to find it empty. Unable to tolerate boredom and because she wanted answers or information, she followed Wesker.

"One more generic lab and I'm going to hurl," she commented as she found her way through a series of white rooms. Eventually, she caught sight of Wesker. He was standing at a table and taking a blood sample from himself. She slowly and quietly approached and sat on a table further away. His black outfit contrasted sharply and fittingly, in her mind, with the whiteness of the surroundings.

"Miss Redfield, you have a habit of staring," Wesker commented after about thirty minutes. Claire quickly averted her eyes and felt like a silly schoolgirl for doing so. It was like getting caught staring at a boy in class.

"I wanted to see what you do all day." He kept working. "Why are you testing yourself? Don't you know the ins and outs of your virus by now?"

"Viruses constantly mutate," Wesker explained. "And I could still be destroyed, Miss Redfield. I'm not invincible, but there are ways to safeguard against destruction." Claire remembered the samples that had originally gotten her into such trouble with Wesker.

"When you said the samples were for a specific goal, you were talking about yourself?" She sounded so shocked and horrified that Wesker paused to look at her. Her stance revealed the extent of her discomfort over his intentions. He set his work aside and walked over to her.

"Alexia's virus has great potential," he stated. "You have no idea how powerful I could become. Even I don't know the extent of my current condition. I'm stronger, require less, and if I'm correct, my body has stopped aging."

"Aren't you afraid you'll mutate or something?" Claire pressed. "You already died. I mean, why would you need to do more to yourself than you've already done?" She truly did not understand as Wesker cupped her chin and ran his thumb along her jaw line.

"I'm touched that you're worried about my welfare, dear heart." He meant it to be sarcastic, but Claire wasn't particularly affected.

"You could take this too far and never be able to undo the damage, Wesker. You've already removed yourself from humanity…you've…you've lost something." She shook her head. "Even when I saw Birkin…he was my enemy, but seeing him like that, with Sherry screaming…I couldn't wish that on anyone." Wesker's sarcasm had dropped, and he gripped her shoulders. His voice was too commanding not to draw her full attention.

"If I were you, I'd be wishing a world of pain on my captor." He waited for a reaction that never came. "I am not a good man, as you have pointed out, and you will suffer more before this is over. Trust me on that. The world is a harsh place. Being kind will gain you nothing, Miss Redfield, nothing." He turned to go back to his work. "Your concern for your enemy has no benefits. Whatever you think I've lost is nothing compared to what I've gained." He returned to his table.

"I'm not out to gain anything," Claire commented. She thought Wesker was done, but he returned holding a purple, liquid-filled syringe. Her body tensed and she placed a table between them for protection.

"If I inject you with this, you'll become more than human. You might even have the strength to save the life of your brother." Claire's eyes shot to his. "That's right. This is the one meant for me, and you could possible be my combative better." He held it out to her, and Claire wished she could see through the sunglasses. She looked at the syringe. He couldn't be serious, even if he looked it.

"No," she affirmed. "I won't sell myself like you did. Never." Wesker withdrew the syringe with a secretive smile and returned to his lab work. Claire, tired of the game for a time, walked away, and Wesker listened to her footsteps fade. He sneered disbelievingly as he put the syringe back in its case. He couldn't begin the next stage of his work yet; for it would take longer than the days he had remaining until his meeting with Chris. His anger grew agitated at the very thought of that pest. His fingers tapped idly beside the computer screen until he realized what he was doing. Claire's words rang in his ears, and his fingers stilled.


	14. Chapter 14: A Violent Goodbye

Keep reviews and suggestions coming! Thanks!

Claire's quotation comes from Shakespeare's _King Lear_. It is a throwback to the speech she was giving in class at the story's beginning.

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Chapter 13: A Violent Goodbye

Wesker chuckled as Claire grumbled about not being a pincushion as she began to awaken. Her eyes flickered open when she felt herself leaning into something warm and black. In her drowsy state, she only slowly realized that she was being supported by Wesker's chest.

_What the hell?_ She jerked herself upward, and Wesker was giving her his subtlety-amused expression. She tried to regain her dignity by sitting straight in the seat next to him. They appeared to be on a landing plane—a small, personal plane it seemed. Claire had been sedated for the majority of the trip, and now that she realized she was not in a lab, she actually felt a rush of relief. She noticed that a briefcase and another black bag rested beside Wesker's feet.

"Don't worry," a man dressed sharply in a suit assured. He sat nearby with a briefcase on his lap. There were several other people dotting the small, classy cabin, but very few. "We're landing soon. You survived."

"Oh," Claire said and wondered what story Wesker had given the people for her unconscious state. "I'm Claire." She couldn't resist speaking to the friendly man. She could feel Wesker's eyes on her, but she kept looking toward the aisle and away from him. It was his own damn fault for keeping her isolated for so long. God, it felt good to have a normal conversation in a normal setting.

"Paul," he greeted. They shook hands. "It's a pleasure to meet you. I'd wished you'd woken up earlier. Your companion has been most quiet, and that always makes for a longer trip." Claire could only imagine the man trying to engage Wesker in conversation. She ignored the fact that Wesker's hand touched hers in warning.

"He's not exactly a chatterbox," Claire commented with as much forced lightheartedness as possible. The grip on her hand tightened, but she couldn't resist her charade. What the hell was he going to do on a plane? _It's what he'll do after you're off of the plane that you should be worrying about_, a voice cautioned. Screw it. "I've had better conversations with dogs." Paul chuckled. Wesker's mood took a dive. "I do get a bit nervous on planes though. Which airport did we leave from?"

"Dear heart, it's time for us to leave," Wesker darkly announced while lifting her from her seat by the forearm. Claire had no opportunity to resist. The plane had fully landed, and Wesker ushered her out of the plane so quickly that she could only give Paul an apologetic smile as she scrambled down the stairs. The entire time, Wesker kept a tight and painful grip on her elbow. "Miss Redfield, any further communication with strangers will have unpleasant results," he stated in a deadly, near monotone voice. It literally rang with the promise of abuse. Claire dared not object when he was so angry. "Don't wander."

Claire and Wesker left the small airport quickly and a car took them to a train station where they stood on a platform and waited. Claire watched life buzzing around them and felt strangely detached from it. People joked and laughed or cursed others for bumping into them, and Claire remained shut away in another world and observing. How long had it been since she was more concerned with which sandwich to order than staying alive? She watched a couple kissing in a corner and wondered what she and Wesker looked like to a passerby.

As people flooded off a train in their direction, Wesker wrapped an arm around Claire's waist to ensure that she did not slip away. She was not particularly thrilled with the gesture as they boarded. They entered a private car where they were the only two present, and Wesker seated them near an emergency exit door.

"Where exactly are we?" Claire asked.

"On the way to meet your brother. We should arrive shortly." He was making no move to further restrain her.

"What, you're not going to knock me out again?" Wesker smirked.

"Only if you'd prefer it. There's no reason to keep our location secret any longer, and watch your attitude, dear heart. You've played with fire enough for one day." Claire was happy that she'd remain conscious as she stared out the window. She almost smiled.

"The sky's a lovely blue," she commented. "Umbrella ought to add some color to their labs. I'm sick of gray, white, and," she glanced meaningfully at Wesker, "black." He looked relaxed and comfortable as he leaned into his seat and folded his arms over his lap.

"I'll put it on my to-do list," he sarcastically drawled. "Do you know how long it's been since you've been free?"

"26 days," she replied without pausing. Wesker was surprised that she had kept track so accurately, but he didn't comment. She was too engrossed in staring out the window. Her face was neither excited nor sad as she refocused on her lap. The realization that Chris was going to meet them and that he'd be killed had reclaimed her emotions. "Have you thought about my offer?"

"Yes," Wesker said. Claire glared at his baiting, mocking smile. He was enjoying himself, the sick freak.

"And?" Wesker shrugged his shoulders, and Claire waited impatiently.

"Chris still dies today." Claire fell mutely back into contemplating her lap. Wesker tilted her chin toward him questioningly.

"No tears, dead heart?"

"You think I'll weep; No, I'll not weep. I have full cause of weeping; but this heart shall break into a hundred thousand flaws or ere I'll weep." Her level voice and cold eyes gave Wesker pause as he returned to his position. Claire would hunt him down for this; he was certain. Her high-held head spoke of resolve, not defeat, and for that he could most certainly respect her. An hour transpired before their silence was interrupted.

"You have potential, Miss Redfield," Wesker commented after checking his watch. "You can throw it away on your brother, or, in the right hands you could be amply rewarded for service in due time." Claire could not believe her ears.

"What are you suggesting?" she demanded and earned a threatening stare from Wesker for her tone.

"Merely that you should consider your options before continuing on your self-appointed mission to help the world." Red and blue bore into each other for some time. "I would pay you well, Miss Redfield, and you would be able to act unsupervised. You would have enough power to help people."

"Very funny, Wesker. You hurt people. You like them at your feet. That's why you were willing to kill yourself." But Claire was unnerved that there was some appeal to his words. She could not fathom how he had guessed that her brother's protectiveness frustrated her and that she was yearning to break free as an equal.

"I'm working toward a goal that will justify the losses." He spoke with conviction, but what it was directed toward, Claire could not imagine. "Peace would be enforced."

"For a high cost—too high to suffer. The answer is no, and nothing will change that." She thought of Steve and zoned out. He was just an insignificant piece of collateral damage to Wesker, and it made her fists clench. She stared at Wesker and wondered how he could passively allow so many people to suffer because of his actions. He never cared, and she felt her hatred for him brewing anew. Someone so cold and uncaring should not exist. She wondered if he had always been like this.

"It's time for us to depart, dear heart." The train was slowing, and Claire followed Wesker's lead by standing and heading for the compartment door. "Stay close." Claire did not defy him as they waded through bustling crowds. People easily parted for Wesker, and Claire again had to consider how impressive his presence was. As long as she remained close to him, she doubted anyone would be stupid enough to approach her. Wesker had rented a car for them, and Claire gazed longingly out the window as they drove further and further from civilization. All the trees reminded her of playing in the woods with Chris as kids. They had pretended to fight monsters that they had never considered to actually exist. She looked at Wesker. They most certainly did exist.

"Here we are, Miss Redfield." Claire was unimpressed by the factory-type building before them. Part of it was crumbling. It was a shell of a former lab. "Your brother and his friends got here before I realized how much of an annoyance they would be." Claire's heart swelled with pride for Chris as they entered the building and walked through the dilapidated facility to an open area overlooking an empty cafeteria. Wesker sat at a table and Claire nervously followed suit. Her mind was racing. There had to be some way to save Chris, but the only weapon present was a gun tucked into Wesker's belt.

"Wesker!" Chris's voice yelled demandingly. Claire leapt from her seat, but she couldn't locate Chris. Wesker laid a restraining hand on her shoulder.

"Not so quick," he ordered. He turned Claire to look at him, and he was so close that she had to crane her neck upward to meet his gaze. He ran a hand down her cheek for what might possibly be the last time and stared at her. "My offer to take the virus for yourself—you really would have rejected it had I been serious, wouldn't you?" Claire mutely nodded and Wesker stepped back. "I see. Hmmm. As much as I love tender goodbyes, I don't believe we have the time. Dear heart, it has been a pleasure." And, in an arcane salute to her, he lifted and kissed the back of her hand. His cool lips on her skin caused Claire to tense in uncertainty.

"I can't say the same." Wesker smirked at her defiance and they descended the nearby stairs into the cafeteria. Claire could feel his presence at her back, and her hand tingled from where he had kissed her. No one had ever done such a thing to her, and she was surprised to find that she had somewhat liked it; however, there was no time to dwell on it. Chris was entering the room with Leon and Jill trailing quietly behind him. Claire caught sight of him first. "Chris!" She went to run toward him, but Wesker jerked her backward by the ponytail and held her against his chest. She rumbled in protest.

"Let her go, Wesker!" Chris demanded, desert eagle raised and leveled at his enemy's head. His hate for Wesker burned intensely.

"I see we're skipping the pleasantries," Wesker dryly mocked. He shoved Claire to the side, where she stumbled and fell to the ground. "I'm going to enjoy this, Chris. I suggest Miss Valentine and Mr. Kennedy leave before they get themselves killed."

"He's right," Chris stated.

"What?" Leon demanded.

"Go…follow the plan, and leave Wesker to me."

"Chris…" Jill began, but Leon motioned her away. They had agreed on their course of action before arriving, and they'd stick to it. They wordlessly left, and Wesker advanced on Chris.

"Not nearly as tenacious as our dear Miss Redfield, are they?" Chris fired, but Wesker charged and slammed the gun out of his way. It flew across the room. At the same time, he landed an incredible punch to Chris's abdomen and then kneed him. Staggering backward, Chris barely managed to dodge another hit by rolling to the side. He was on the ground, on his back, facing an advancing Wesker who held a gun at the ready. "This is for delaying my plans, Chris." He shot Chris in the left leg, and Chris screamed in pain. "Parting is such sweet sorrow." The gun was leveled at the other leg, and a gunshot rang out, but it wasn't from Wesker's gun.

"Bastard!" Claire had shot Wesker in the chest from behind, having retrieved Chris's fallen weapon. Her eyes were cold, like a professional killer's as she flooded her emotions into her trigger finger. She fired again, hitting him in the chest twice, now three times. Wesker stumbled backwards with an angry yell. "Chris, go!" Claire was at her brother's side and helping him to stand. "Run!"

Wesker had already healed and his temper boiled over. He faced Claire. _You told me not to hesitate_. Claire fired again, hitting him in the head and breaking his sunglasses. His head snapped forward quickly, and Claire watched in astonishment as his open wound closed in seconds. His red eyes burned more intensely than she could ever remember having seen.

"You're choice, dear heart." With that, Wesker dashed forward, lifted her by her shirt, and threw her. Her bodied sailed through the air and cleared tables out of the way as she skidded across the floor in a heavy landing. The skin on her palms was rubbed raw as she tried to slow her body down. "Two Redfields in one day," Wesker chuckled. "But such a waste concerning your sister." Chris came at him with a knife, and they briefly struggled before the intercom sounded with a self-destruct warning.

"Damn it!" Wesker cursed. Chris grimly cocked a lopsided smile.

"Not your day, after all, Wesker." Wesker could have closed the distance between them and smashed Chris's head in seconds, but he hardly considered that a satisfying victory. He could only kill Chris once, after all, and he planned to take his damn good time when the day came. And so he decided to make his exit as the annoying Mr. Kennedy ran into the room and began aiming his rifle.

"Another time, Chris," Wesker said in parting, and then his dark form disappeared down another passageway.

"Chris, let's move!" Leon shouted. The four fumbled their way clear of the building as the countdown reached its end. Leon had needed to half-carry the bleeding Chris, who was having problems standing now that his adrenaline was wearing off, and Claire was as sore as she could ever remember being. A van rushed toward them as a voice behind said "one". Rebecca was sitting inside and waiting for them. She threw the door open.

"Let's go, slowpokes! Hey, Claire!" She waved to the grimacing woman, who halfheartedly waved back. The van door slammed shut and the vehicle raced into the distance. Jill tended Chris's leg while Leon rode shotgun. Claire felt strange being around them again. Was she really in a van with friends and family? It seemed unreal after her captivity, but, as Chris reached out and nudged her shoulder, she broke free from her trance.

"You almost got me killed, loser," he joked. Claire broke into a huge smile as a few stray tears ran down her cheeks.

"You deserve if for stranding me at college with a bunch of twits while you fought zombies." They smiled at each other. "It's good to be back," Claire sighed. Chris gave her hand a squeeze. That, more than anything else let Claire know that she was home.

___________________

The End!

WHAT?

I'm just joking. There is much more to come. I'm still editing what's already done and posting it while I work on continuing and ending the story at the same time.


	15. Chapter 15: Lingering Thoughts

Okay everyone, this is it. This is the last chapter for part one. The second part in this series will be called "Infection," and I promise that it's as good as part one and starts with a bang. Look for it to begin being posted in the next few days. I'll begin editing it tomorrow. That means that, if you have any suggestions based on part one, you need to tell me soon. Love to you all!

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Chapter 14: Lingering Thoughts

Claire sat on her bed in her freshly cleaned pink jacket and almost felt like her old self. Sunlight streamed across her hair and made its redness even more pronounced. Sunlight. Color. Friends. Everything seemed like it once had, but it wasn't. It was the day after her escape, and she still half expected to look over her shoulder and find Wesker watching her like a dark sentinel. Sitting without his presence nearby at work was a strange change. She supposed that it was a testament to how removed she had been from the world. It was like she had been locked away in Umbrella facilities for months rather than weeks.

She pulled her sneakers on and readied herself for a new day. Life had to be put back on track, although it was a little late to redeem her standing at college. That made her smile, for she wasn't planning on going back anytime soon. She was going to demand a piece of the action, and she had the perfect way to initiate herself into the anti-Umbrella team. She had been repeating specific coordinates over and over again…

_Wesker had left the room for some unknown reason right before they were to leave for Romania, and he left Claire sitting on the couch immersed in her Shakespeare. Wesker's computer remained propped open, and Claire had hurriedly stolen a peek. The screen was, of course, blank, and every folder was password protected. It seemed a dead end, but, as she went to turn away, the computer had beeped. A new window popped up announcing the instructions had been completed. _

_Claire had watched in confusion as a series of numbers flew by in a textbox before a map appeared. It was a strange, topographic map that resembled Brazil. The image zoomed in to reveal blueprints of a facility. Claire could do nothing but memorize the coordinates that briefly appeared in the corner below the facility before returning to her couch. Wesker had returned to find her nose stuck in her book, not that it mattered, because he was sure Claire would not register the importance or location of what his computer had been connecting to. _

Claire smiled as she mouthed the numbers to herself. It had played like a mantra in her head since that glimpse. She was lucky that she had not risked jotting it down in the book's margins, because Wesker, ever the thinker, had confiscated her book before their trip. She wondered what he would think of what she had written in the margins. He'd probably deepen his view of her as a sentimental weakling. _Not weakling_, she corrected herself. _He thought you were good enough to work for him_. That puzzled her to no end. Perhaps she even felt a bit flattered to have met a super human's standards.

She had spent much of the night digesting everything that had happened to her, all of which revolved around Albert Wesker. Instead of fueling her hate, she found she couldn't decide what to think of him anymore. He had become more a source of frustration rather than anger or scorn since the time that they had spent together, although she would still say that she disliked the largest part of him. There was that small part—the one that amused her with biting wit and wiped away her tears and gave her Shakespeare—that she couldn't claim to despise. That too she found curious and troubling. Even as she went downstairs and ate a bowl of cereal, he was on her mind. It was safer to freely contemplate him when she didn't feel the threat of him returning.

"Morning, kiddo," Chris greeted as he limped into the kitchen. He always did refuse to let an injury slow him down. She hadn't seen him in months, but he was the same old Chris except for a few new items of interest; Claire had noticed that he and Jill shared a room. "I bet it's been a while since you've eaten real food." He tried to joke about it, and he was, but Claire could see the concern behind the smile.

"You have no idea how sick I am of granola bars and instant noodles," Claire agreed. "But I don't know if Cocoa Puffs are any better. How's the leg, bigger kiddo?" Chris grinned and slapped it playfully.

"No pain, no gain, but don't let nurse Jill hear that." He got himself a bowl of cereal and sat beside his beloved sister. "Claire, I don't know what happened to you when you were with Wesker, but, whatever it was, I don't want you to feel like you need to keep it bottled up to look strong or anything. I mean, he didn't…you know. The whole thing with the bed. I need to know, Claire." Claire dourly shook her head to deny it. "Anyway, we'll get him back for everything one day." Claire sighed and drank her leftover milk.

"I'm fine. I've been thinking about it, and I won't have any problems with what happened. I've already dealt with it." Chris smiled to humor her. "Really, Chris! It wasn't as terrible as it could have been. For the most part we left each other alone." _Liar_, her brain screamed. Indeed, she was still thinking about how Wesker had cornered her in the kitchen that one day, and she wasn't about to tell Chris how they had sat on the couch talking when both seemed bored with their separate tasks. "But, we _will_ get him eventually." Chris nudged her.

"Damn straight, sis."

"Chris, I've been meaning to tell you this. I want to be part of the team. I can't go study when I know what's at work out there. I can help. I'm more capable than you think." Chris tried to open his mouth, but Claire cut him off. "And you can't protect me forever. If I survived Wesker on my own for weeks, I think I can handle a few zombies and mutants." Chris shook his head and laughed.

"Claire," he laughed. "Why do you think I saved your jacket? I knew you'd need it to feel like your old, kick-ass self. We've already discussed it, and you're in." Claire couldn't believe her ears.

"Really?" Chris nodded. "Yes!" Claire jumped out of her seat and threw her arms around Chris's neck in a huge bear hug. "What's the next assignment?"

"Come on, Claire," Chris said as he pried her loose. "Remember I'm injured." Claire just laughed. God, it felt good to laugh—not a minor laugh, but a full-throated, blissful laugh. Hers was in desperate need of use. "We haven't decided what we're doing next. There have been rumors about this Brazilian place since you hinted at it, and we've contacted a governmental group that might be useful."

"No need to worry, bro. I've got the coordinates right here." She tapped her head. Chris was surveying her with renewed appreciation. He had always credited Claire with a sharp brain. "Captain Wesker is not always diligent, and he's got quite a problem with underestimating Redfields." The two gathered the group, and before long, they were planning a trip to Brazil. Claire was particularly thrilled that the group seemed impressed with her ability to gather information during a stressful situation, but they all assumed her captor had been a tormenter at every possible moment; Claire would not correct them.

"Claire, I can't believe that you survived like that," Rebecca was saying. "I mean, Captain Wesker was never nice, even when he was pretending to be a good guy. He used to be really hard on us for every little thing." Jill, Rebecca, and Claire were sitting together for a brief respite of girl time.

"Let's not call him captain anymore," Jill requested.

"Yeah, I always forget," Rebecca apologized. "Sorry for bringing it up, Claire. I know it can't be easy, but you're doing great."

"Thanks," Claire said. "There were times that I thought he'd kill me, but it wasn't always terrible." With her brother and Leon gone, it felt safer to mention this sort of thing. Jill and Rebecca regarded her with interest. "I mean, it was usually quiet. He was always working, almost constantly. He was like a machine, just typing away or reading reports in the dark. I can't imagine living like he does. It's like he was made for being alone with his single-minded ambition." Claire spoke the words with such softness that Jill searched her face. She intuitively knew that Claire was talking about something Chris would never be able to see. She had seen the same thing when Wesker worked at Stars, and it had affected her similarly at times. Judging by Rebecca's face, she didn't understand quite as much, but she had been younger than anyone at Stars; so she hadn't thought much about Wesker's lone figure hunched at his desk, passively and seriously working while the others played together like true comrades.

"And sometimes we'd talk; more often later than at the beginning," Claire continued. She was about to say more and explain how Wesker had started locked in another room and ended sitting several feet from her with a portable laptop, but that was pushing this too far. She did not want Jill or Rebecca to think that she was going soft or crazy. They might even misconstrue it as Stockholm syndrome, which it wasn't. Claire still fully believed that Wesker had to be stopped, and she could see no way to accomplish that except killing him, which she was planning to help do. "It was just weird to see him in everyday life, but it's not really a life, if you ask me. He's an isolated and unhappy man." Jill wordlessly passed a cookie to Claire and offered her a small nod of understanding.

"You are much more level-headed than Chris when it comes to people," Jill commented approvingly, yet she worried what this boded for Claire. It was easier to kill when you saw in black and white. That was why zombies were so easy to kill. She looked at them and saw creatures, not people. Shooting them required no second thought, but this sort of thing…it had slowed her instincts at the mansion, when she was having problems switching Wesker from being captain to traitor. For Chris, the switch had been easy, and she somewhat envied that. "Claire, be careful," Jill cautioned. "Seeing in grey can be deadly." Their eyes met, and Claire glimpsed Jill's sympathy for her words. Instantly, it seemed a bond had formed between them.

"Okay. Okay," Rebecca hurried. "How about we do something cheerful now? Claire's had too much seriousness lately. I say ice cream is the answer." Claire grinned ear-to-ear. Rebecca had an optimist's streak that made her a natural comfort. And so they ate ice cream, but Claire excused herself early. When she was alone in her room, she found herself staring out the window at the moon. It was a privilege she wouldn't forget to enjoy, and she vowed she would never be sucked into one of Wesker's dark dungeons again.

****************

Wesker gave the order to kill the man and reclined in his chair. Ada had done another brilliant job. She was his best employee in many ways, well, except that she could never be trusted, but he didn't trust anyone who worked for him. In the darkness of his computer office, he scanned the surveillance video system. He had just arrived in Brazil and was at the new lab. Progress was remarkably fast, and human tests were being run on his virus. Of course, very few people were involved, and they could be trusted for the time being because they worshipped the almighty dollar. Very soon it would be time to take the next step in his transformation. Then no one would be able to stand against him, not even Redfield luck would be able to hassle him.

His red eyes found the corner desk where his black bag with the laptop and Claire's book was sitting. He had seen her writing in it but never bothered to check its contents, although he was curious. Perhaps she had hoped to smuggle information out in it—as if he had given anything worthwhile away. But he had to be careful with hostages like Claire Redfield, for she was clever and resourceful enough to take advantage of any opening. He opened the book and held it in his lap as he flipped through the pages.

_How is his hair always so damn perfect?_

_Day 19. Bored to death._

_This line reminds me of autumn. _

_Brazil. Brazil. Brazil. _

_It's lonely here, like a tomb. He sits and types as if it doesn't bother him. Does it bother him? Ever? Or has he always been a loner like this? It must get old sometimes, because he talks more often now. Chris would call me diseased, but I think I pity this cold, hard man. No one makes him a cup of cocoa when he's up late working like Chris used to do for me._

"_Men were deceivers ever." Tell me about it William. _

Wesker flipped to the back cover to find an odd, little comment that made a genuine, non-sarcastic smile tug at the corners of his usually flat-lined lips: _I bet he wears those freaking sunglasses in the shower_. There was even a small, crude cartoon to accompany it. It showed Cartoon Wesker's top half with a showerhead above him. He was only wearing sunglasses, and a little bubble coming from his mouth said, "I'm super cool." Cartoon Claire was standing and glaring at him. Her bubble said, "Prick." He shut the book and set it aside. He was amazed that she had been resilient enough to privately joke about her captor. Either way, it was a good thing that the prick comment had remained private.

Claire claimed that she would join anti-Umbrella no matter what Chris said about it, but he wasn't sure who of the two Redfields would prove more obstinate and win. If she did join, he wondered how long before they would meet again and if he should kill her outright. The computers hummed monotonously as he contemplated the content pouring over them. He had talked more in the last month than he had in almost a year, so immersed and private had he been in his work. Most communication was written rather than verbal these days, and he had never even stopped to contemplate that before Claire arrived. The recent companionship had been enjoyable as well as irritating at times, he admitted. He had never shared living space so closely with someone else, because he tended to find the very suggestion tiresome with its implications of sharing and maneuvering around each other. It was simply inconvenient, and Wesker prized expediency.

He refocused on work. It would be time to resurface soon. As he continued typing, he was intrigued to find that a certain redheaded woman crept into his mind from time to time. How long would it be before his path crossed with Miss Redfield's again?


End file.
